


Inevitably Yours

by TheVioletMuse



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, F/F, F/M, Finchel - Freeform, Gen, M/M, St. Berry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVioletMuse/pseuds/TheVioletMuse
Summary: A mission, method acting taken too far, and a split decision changes the lives of Jesse St. James, Rachel Berry, and the rest of the New Directions.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Rachel Berry/Jesse St. James
Comments: 28
Kudos: 57





	1. Spring into Sectionals

The floors were sticky. The carpets were in desperate need of an era-appropriate upgrade. The burgundy, crushed velvet covered chairs were faded from overuse. And a broken spring was currently digging into Jesse St. James’s left butt cheek, clearly trying to escape a particularly well-worn cushion he didn’t want to be sitting on in the first place. But Shelby Corcoran had insisted, and Ms. Corcoran’s word was law.

_“It’s tradition,”_ their choir director had explained.

Part of what gave Vocal Adrenaline their undeniable competitive edge was their intimate knowledge of their competition. Scouting was, therefore, a necessary evil. But as he was flipping through the program, Jesse had a difficult time considering any of these other show choirs “competition.”

He shoved the cheap, paper pamphlet into the pocket of his hoodie and glanced around the Buckeye Civic Auditorium, searching for his teammates. To avoid arousing suspicion—and giving away their secret—the members of Vocal Adrenaline always arrived in staggered pairs of twos and threes. Fanning out across the auditorium also gave them multiple vantage points of every team’s performance that they were definitely _not_ secretly filming with their camera phones (courtesy of their generous, overly active booster club).

After a minute of organized scanning, Jesse finally spotted Giselle sitting on the other side of the auditorium next to another female teammate of theirs whose name he couldn’t be bothered to remember. The only reason he even knew Giselle’s name was because of their positions as co-captains and, even then, he often called her Gazelle or Gabrielle to put her in her place whenever she got a bit too friendly. They were a team and teammates only in the strictest sense of both words. They knew, just as every other member of Vocal Adrenaline knew, that none of them would hesitate to push each other in front of an oncoming bus if it meant getting a shot at a solo.

As the lights dimmed, signaling the commencement of the first performance, Jesse fought to maintain a neutral composure. It wasn’t fair that Giselle was sitting way over there with another team member, most likely trading veiled digs directed at each other and openly speculating about the horror show they would no doubt be subjected to before the day was done. If she was a co-captain, her bony butt should be sitting with him and Ms. Corcoran. Possibly in his seat.

Jesse shifted a bit on the thin cushion in an effort to ease the pain from that damn incessant spring. At this slight movement, Ms. Corcoran’s eyes flicked in his direction, and he froze. Of course, she would catch him in a rare moment of weakness. Silently, he chastised himself and vowed to keep still no matter what. Regardless of the pain, misery, or boredom, his butt would not leave this deplorable excuse for a cushion.

The auditorium was now sufficiently dark, quelling the dull roar of an expecting audience to a low, excited murmur. A spotlight flickered on, illuminating the pitifully small stage just as a bushy-haired man in an ill-fitting suit stepped out from behind a curtain that was at least as old as Jesse, if not considerably older.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Western Ohio’s Show Choir Sectional Championship. I am pleased to announce that we have some wonderful teams competing today, not only for a shiny first place trophy but also for their place at Regionals a few months from now. So, without further ado, let’s get the first team out here. Please, give a big round of applause for the young ladies of Jane Addams Academy.”

The audience did as they were directed while the emcee scuttled off the stage and the curtain rose to reveal a collection of girls in blindingly gold jackets and impossibly high hair. Jesse fought the urge to gag.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

By the time intermission rolled around, Jesse was genuinely considering ripping the damn spring out of the cushion and jamming it into his jugular. Never in his seventeen years of life, most of which had been spent performing in competitions of some nature or other, had he seen such unimpressive performances by people completely out of their depth.

Still, he’d made a vow not to move a muscle until the entire ordeal was over. Even if he needed to pee. And he did. Jesse needed to pee something fierce. In fact, he could think of nothing else. He barely felt the spring anymore, the pain in his bladder was so intense. But he would not be moved.

Ms. Corcoran, on the other hand, had no problem swishing past him to disappear to who-knows-where during intermission. But there was a reason she’d never made it in show business. Jesse’s will power was obviously stronger than hers, stronger than his bladder, and, even if he wasn’t the most talented person he’d ever met, the strength of his will would’ve been enough to take him all the way to the top.

“So, apparently there’s some set list drama involving the Jane Addams girls, the deaf kids, and the last group,” Ms. Corcoran informed Jesse as she sidled past him and settled back into her seat.

“Oh?” Jesse replied, feigning disinterest.

“Mhmm. I overheard a delicious little argument while waiting in line at the snack bar.” She held up a box of candy in his direction. “Raisinet?”

“No, thank you.”

One side of the severe-looking woman’s mouth quirked upward. “Oh well, more for me,” she said, popping a few chocolate-covered raisins into her mouth. “You know,” she continued, “I don’t think you’ve gotten up once since you’ve sat down. If you want, I think we have a few minutes until the final groups perform, so it’d be perfectly fine to get up and stretch your legs for a bit. Get a snack, maybe. Use the bathroom?”

Jesse’s eye twitched at the thought, but he shoved the desire deep, deep down and locked it away. He and his vow had made it this long; he couldn’t break down now. He wouldn’t. He would make it through on the basis of his superior will power and prove once more that he, Jesse St. James, was better than her and everyone else in every way. He would not show weakness. And in doing so, he’d eradicate any of Ms. Corcoran’s doubts regarding his superiority after that momentary lapse earlier.

“No need, Ms. Corcoran,” Jesse lied.

“Really? Not even the bathroom, huh?” She was goading him; he was sure of it. “Very impressive, Mr. St. James. I know I couldn’t go all day like that.”

_Oh, I know_ , he thought smugly.

No further words were exchanged between the two for the duration of the intermission. Instead, Jesse and Ms. Corcoran simply stared straight ahead, willing the day to be over. With the seats around them mostly empty, it was as if the two of them were enclosed in an isolated bubble of silence, giving Jesse the perfect opportunity to hear something utterly peculiar.

Having spent his life training and performing, Jesse’s perfectly developed pitch was partially thanks to endless hours and years of hard work. But he was also blessed with exceptional aural talents, giving him an edge in competitions. So, it was thanks to his finely tuned ear that he knew something about his choir director was…off.

It started out soft and sporadic, going half-noticed by Jesse until the _tap-tap-tap_ grew louder and more frequent. Without looking over to confirm his suspicions, he knew— _just knew_ —that Ms. Corcoran was tapping the pad of her manicured pointer finger against her Raisinet box. This noise was then joined by the _swish-swish_ of her pencil skirt and pantyhose rubbing together as her leg bounced imperceptibly up and down.

She seemed almost…nervous?

It was a surreal idea, and Jesse spent the remainder of the intermission locked in an internal war over the inconceivability of his conclusion and a long history of never being wrong. By the time the bell rang to signal the end of the break, Jesse was absolutely flummoxed.

The incessant _swishing_ and _tapping_ only grew in strength and frequency throughout the performances that followed, and Jesse’s patience had been worn thinner than the ancient upholstery of the world’s most uncomfortable chair. A particularly horrendous performance of “Don’t Stop Believing” by a deaf choir that was offensive to both logic and Jesse’s ears did little to suppress the frustrated screams burning his throat as they clawed up, up, up, desperate to escape from his mouth.

Jesse was just about to lose control when the emcee strutted back on stage.

“And now, our final team, McKinley High’s New Directions!”

There was a short, breathy gasp from Ms. Corcoran’s direction, then the _swishing_ and _tapping_ stopped.

The emcee cleared the stage, which was left empty even as the first notes of the song began to play. Jesse recognized the music and quickly hypothesized where exactly the New Directions were hiding. With a spotlight aimed somewhere behind him, Jesse settled in for what he could only assume would be the worst performance yet. Personally, he hated when performers acted, sang, or danced down the aisles. It was common, plebian, and rather intrusive. When he did it, he was exceptional, of course, but few could pull it off quite like him.

And this person was about to commit what Jesse considered to be a major show choir sin _and_ sing Barbra Streisand’s “Don’t Rain on My Parade”? Were they trying to out-awful the deaf choir?

But then…

The second the first note was sung, Jesse’s head almost flew around of its own accord to catch a glimpse of the girl singing. It was flawless, crystal clear, and perfect. Completely, wholly, entirely, absolutely perfect beyond reproach. Nevertheless, Jesse ignored the aching desire to turn. He’d made it this far; he couldn’t stop now. Fortunately, he didn’t have long to wait.

When the singer finally came into view, Jesse was understandably shocked at what he saw. The girl’s back was to him, but she was such a short, little thing that he couldn’t help but wonder if the vocals were coming from somewhere else, somewhere out of his line of sight. That was, until she turned around and the light hit her face.

If Jesse had been shocked before, he was absolutely floored now. Suddenly, Ms. Corcoran’s behavior was starting to make sense. The teenage girl was practically the spitting image of his antsy choir director.

As much as he wanted to sneak a peek at Ms. Corcoran to catch her reaction, Jesse couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the minuscule powerhouse belting out notes that would undoubtedly garner approval from Barbra herself.

Jesse St. James didn’t believe in love at first sight. After seventeen years with his family and of lackluster interpersonal relationships, he barely believed in love at all, but even he couldn’t deny the hold the fiery brunette had over him in that moment, not to mention every other member in the audience.

When her solo came to a close, everyone in the auditorium was already on their feet, applauding like crazy—everyone except Ms. Corcoran and himself. Jesse barely noticed the unmoving woman sitting beside him, and he’d all but forgotten his self-made vow. It was the force of the young girl’s phenomenal performance that had rendered him completely incapable of movement.

Without even realizing it, Jesse’s lips parted and a quiet “whoa” slipped out.

The group song that followed was a bit of a letdown, but that type of perfection was bound to be hard to follow. For the common audience members, they were overjoyed to hear “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” and “Somebody to Love,” but Jesse could only grit his teeth as he waited to hear _her_ again. The male lead had no business singing along beside _her_ , of that, Jesse was certain. _She_ needed someone capable of stronger, more powerful vocals. As it was, _her_ voice soared above the others even when joined in unison.

Before long, the performance was over, and the New Directions exited the stage. Jesse was half-way out of his seat with a mumbled excuse about going to the bathroom before the emcee finished announcing a brief intermission while the judges deliberated. If Ms. Corcoran gave a reply or questioned his actions with one of her trademark looks, Jesse didn’t see and he certainly couldn’t bring himself to care.

Jesse took a sharp turn at the bathrooms and pressed on, searching for any glimpse of _the girl_ and getting lost in a maze of hallways for his trouble. He was about to turn back when the director for the Jane Addams choir strode purposefully past him. After a moment of hesitation, Jesse turned and followed.

The faint sound of voices stopped Jesse in his tracks after his lead disappeared around a corner. He paused and peeked around the corner before drawing back, having confirmed that _the girl_ was indeed down the hall along with the rest of her choir.

“Hey, um… I just wanted to say how great you all were, and I thought you were amazing,” the rival director offered.

While the compliment was well-deserved for _the girl_ , at least, Jesse was still puzzled by any kind of gracious behavior between competitors. If the woman had done the same thing to any member of Vocal Adrenaline, she would’ve been torn to shreds (literally or figuratively, depending on the severity of her kindness and the whim of his teammates).

When _the girl_ retorted with a biting, “We have nothing to say to you,” Jesse felt a foreign warm, fuzzy sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“Because we cheated, I know. I feel terrible about it, but I’m going to tell the judges right now that we don’t deserve to win,” the woman acquiesced, reminding Jesse of Ms. Corcoran’s gossip during the last intermission.

He waited for someone to reply, and by someone, he was thinking specifically of _her_ , but the sound of a door opening put a stop to any further conversation. It was the judges, and they were headed in his direction, forcing Jesse to retreat back to the auditorium, bladder still uncomfortably full.

* * *

The New Directions won. Of course, they did. Jesse expected nothing less. If they hadn’t, he was pretty sure there would’ve been riots. He wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t have joined in if it had come to that or that he wouldn’t have been the one leading the charge.

Following the announcement, the audience dispersed, allowing the members of Vocal Adrenaline to slip out quietly in their groups of twos and threes, unnoticed by anyone of importance. Jesse dutifully followed Ms. Corcoran out to her inconspicuous sedan and climbed wordlessly into the passenger seat.

They were both strapped in and ready to start the 3 hour and 15-minute drive back to Carmel, but Ms. Corcoran could only fidget with her keys while Jesse waited.

And waited.

And waited.  
Finally, she spoke.

“Jesse, I trust you about as far as I can throw you, which we both know isn’t far at all, but just know that if you breathe a word of what I am about to tell you to anyone else, I am perfectly capable of getting your scholarship and admittance to UCLA revoked with just one phone call, do you understand?”

Jesse only nodded.

“Good.”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

“She’s my daughter,” Ms. Corcoran said softly after a short eternity. “The last soloist, I mean. Her name is Rachel Berry, and she’ll be sixteen this month.”

“If she’s your—” Jesse started, but Ms. Corcoran cut him off.

“Let me finish.”

Reluctantly, Jesse shut his mouth and waited for Ms. Corcoran to continue.

“For reasons I’m not comfortable discussing with you, I had to give her up when she was a baby, and I’ve had no contact with her since. She doesn’t even know who I am.”

Jesse tried to study her as she spoke, but Ms. Corcoran’s face was hidden by a curtain of dark brown hair as she stared into the middle distance just past her driver’s side window. 

“I need your help, Jesse. I need you to befriend Rachel. Tell me about her and, when the time is right, give her something for me.” She suddenly turned to face him, bringing down the full weight of her request with an impassioned—almost pleading—expression. “Can you do that?” she asked.

Befriend the mini-Ms. Corcoran with the ethereal voice? Jesse St. James didn’t really do friends, so this could be a great acting opportunity. Go full method to become the kind of friend that this _Rachel Berry_ could bare her soul to. Sure. How hard could that be?

“Of course,” he replied.

Seemingly satisfied, Ms. Corcoran finally stuck the keys into the ignition and started the car. It was a long drive, but it would give them more than enough time to plan and scheme all the possible ways of inserting themselves into Rachel Berry’s life.

Even if Jesse still had to pee.


	2. Hello (I Love You) (pt. 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes for this chapter: 
> 
> 1) Stalking is bad and creepy and illegal. Don't do it. 
> 
> 2) I've been doing some close viewings (think literary criticism but for Glee) of Groff's portrayal of the character. Based on my interpretation of his acting decisions, plus what we know of Jesse's history, I came to the conclusion that, before Rachel, real love was foreign to Jesse (loving parents do NOT openly admit to having favorites). His ego is also inflated by everyone around him, so the Jesse at the beginning of this story is supposed to be a butthead (trust me, I hate writing him like this even when it is fun). I'm aiming to get into his misguided thought process and untangle the mess in his noodle throughout the course of the story (aka personal redemptive arc). 
> 
> 3) I don't support ship or character bashing. Unfortunately, with original make-and-model Jesse, he's a bit of an egocentric a-hole, so he does a lot of Finn-bashing in this and subsequent chapters. That will decrease as we get further into the story. 
> 
> 4) So far, this has been exclusive from Jesse's POV, but I will be getting into some other noggins as the story progresses. If you have any requests, let me know, and I'll see what I can do. 
> 
> 5) I love constructive criticism and am usually quick to reply. If my reply to your constructive criticism sounds like push back, it's probably not. I'm most likely probing for more information or explaining my intent. If I didn't achieve my intent, then the reply is my way of trying to figure out where I lost you and how I can avoid/fix it in the future. Any bit helps and is greatly appreciated :)
> 
> 6) I was originally aiming for 1 chapter per episode through "Journey to Regionals." But it's looking like 12-15 chapters if this part is any indication. As of right now, I have the entire plot outlined for Season 1. Depending on the response, I may continue and do later seasons, as well.

It wasn’t stalking.

Not really.

Jesse preferred to think of it as research. If he was going to play a role, he needed to be prepared. Getting into character was bound to be difficult when your costar was an inexperienced (and, admittedly, unwitting) ingénue.

Hence: research.

And definitely _not_ stalking.

After accepting Ms. Corcoran’s mission on the 9th, Jesse spent the rest of December getting to know Rachel from afar. Given her extensive—if somewhat poorly received—online presence, this wasn’t exactly difficult. In the weeks leading up to winter break, Jesse came straight home after Vocal Adrenaline practice and dedicated at least two hours to watching Rachel Berry’s entire back catalogue of MySpace videos.

Jesse also took note of when each and every video was posted and found that uploads had occurred every Friday and Saturday night for as long as she’d been old enough to date. From this, Jesse drew one important conclusion: Rachel Berry was single. And for Jesse, this worked just fine.

It would be far easier for him to get close to a single girl than an attached one, Jesse reasoned, because he knew teenage boys—hell, he was one. Yes, single was definitely better; Jesse could work with single. So, it was a bit of a nasty surprise for Jesse when he made the arduous 2.5-hour drive from Akron to Lima only to discover that Rachel Berry was very much attached to the bumbling oaf from sectionals and not as single as she was supposed to be. It might not have been Rachel’s fault, but Jesse blamed her anyway.

As the “producer” of the mission, Ms. Corcoran assisted Jesse with anything and everything she could. While he didn’t need much, Jesse insisted that he’d accomplished all that he could from Akron and needed time to make contact and earn Rachel’s trust. He asked Ms. Corcoran if she could get him excused from at least a week of school; she got him two.

After an intense weekend of Vocal Adrenaline practice, Jesse packed a bag and drove to Lima the Sunday night before McKinley High was scheduled to resume classes, opting to stay with his uncle for the duration of his time in town.

The first week was spent on additional “research” and prep. This entailed driving to the high school every morning and waiting for Rachel’s arrival. He spent the majority of the school day confined to his car, unwilling to risk getting recognized. At night, Jesse either found himself following her back home only to find a new uploaded video when he returned to his uncle’s, or he ended up reluctantly trapped in the McKinley High gym watching a basketball game (of all things. On these nights, he spent less time watching the actual game and more time focusing on Rachel who spent the entire game jumping up and down in a t-shirt that read “Team Finn” and cheering on her Neanderthal of a boyfriend.

By the time Friday rolled around, Jesse had concluded that the majority of the McKinley High student body was far too uncultured to know who he was, giving him the confidence to enter the actual school in a carefully crafted disguise.

So, on Monday, he did just that.

And, boy, was he glad he did.

* * *

Despite the cool, winter chill of early January, someone had left one of the choir room’s windows ajar, giving him the perfect opportunity to listen in on his first New Directions meeting. Disguise or no, he was willing to bet on his vocal chords that someone would’ve noticed him loitering outside the choir room door. Here, in the courtyard that bordered the window, he had more than enough privacy. Unfortunately, he arrived just as the meeting was wrapping up.

“Fact is, we’re going to have to be better, even more spectacular at regionals. It’s time for some reinvention, some new, New Directions. We need a new…hello. Here’s your assignment for the week: Come up with a fresh number, but it has to have “hello” in the song title. Alright?” The voice clearly belonged to the New Directions’ faculty advisor, Will Schuester.

The bell rang, and a mess of garbled voices made it impossible to figure out what was happening. But the universe must’ve been rooting for Jesse.

Just as he was about to head back out to his car and wait for another opportunity, Jesse heard Mr. Schuester call after Finn Hudson, asking him to meet him in the auditorium after school. While it wasn’t Rachel, it was the next best thing. Either Rachel would be nearby, or he could gain some insight into the Brawny Paper Towel Guy’s distant, in-bred cousin. At this point, anything was helpful.

Jesse was already in place when Mr. Schuester strolled onto the stage of the auditorium, with The Creature lumbering closely behind.

“I know it’s been hard on you since the baby drama,” Mr. Schuester was saying. “Trust me, I get it. It sucks.”

_Baby drama? Was Rachel pregnant?_ Somehow, Jesse didn’t think that was too likely. He scrolled through his memories, searching for “pregnancy” plus “Rachel” before suddenly remembering a pretty blonde on the New Directions with a small but noticeable baby bump.

With that mystery solved, Jesse tuned back into the conversation at hand.

“I just feel so bad about myself,” Chewbacca whined.

Jesse rolled his eyes. Based on his research, the blonde and Big Foot were a thing, and the “baby drama” as Mr. Schuester put it, referred to an incident of infidelity and a baby daddy who was someone other than the Not-So-Jolly-Green-Giant. He could mope all he wanted, but even Jesse balked at Hudson’s level of self-involvement when it wasn’t his life that was irreparably changed—especially when it meant that he was free to date Rachel.

In a manner that was decidedly kinder than Jesse would’ve been, Mr. Schuester tried to reason with and ( _gag_ ) make Gigantor feel better. “Finn, that guy who made all those bad choices, who ignored the signs, he’s gone. This new, more experienced, more interesting guy is here. And I’ve brought you here to introduce you to him. Help you move forward.”

This was yet another moment where Jesse had to engage every ounce of his not inconsiderable will power to stop from scoffing.

_More interesting, my ass._

“Oh, you mean like, meeting other girls?” Lankenstein asked. “Because I think I’m dating Rachel.” He paused. “At least, she sure thinks I am.”

Jesse froze.

From Lurch’s tone and choice of words, Jesse got the distinct impression that not all was simpatico for Rachel and her new beau, even if she wasn’t aware of it. Jesse’s jaw clenched as he felt strangely sickened by Sasquatch’s cavalier brush-off of the girl enamored with him.

People could say whatever they wanted about Jesse, but no one could honestly say that he ever made girls believe he cared for them more than he did (which was very little, if at all). Sure, he was trained to be charming to a fault, but he always knew where to draw the line.

Suddenly, Jesse was having less trouble keeping his mouth shut and more trouble not rushing the Heartless Beanstalk. In that moment, Jesse would’ve given anything to beat some sense into him, but it would’ve been counterproductive to all he’d been trying to accomplish (no matter how good it would feel).

“No, it’s not about meeting someone else. It’s about being okay just being you. You’re a rock star, Finn! You’re like Jagger, Morrison.”

Jesse rolled his eyes so hard, he nearly strained something.

From there, the conversation drew quickly to a close after a few more insipid words of inspiration so artificial, Jesse was sure Mr. Schuester had squirted them out of a bottle of Easy Cheese, along with Finn’s decision to combine two tasks into one, cementing Jesse’s opinion of him as the Witless Wonder never to wit.

If Jesse’s reaction to Finn Hudson’s singing had been less than kind during the New Direction’s set at sectionals, his reaction to the BFG’s rendition of “Hello, I Love You,” was ten times worse, based solely on principle.

Eventually, the auditorium cleared, and Jesse was able to sneak away. Once he made it to the safety of his car, he decided to skip the game that night and take a trip to the electronics store instead. It was time for a more invasive approach to his research.

* * *

Thanks to the surveillance equipment he’d picked up and installed in the choir room the night before, Jesse had a front-row seat to Tuesday’s glee club meeting. While that meant sitting through another round of Hudson’s caterwauling, it was almost worth it to bear witness to an interesting development between two suspiciously close cheerleaders and the Great Gullible Gulliver while Rachel was sufficiently distracted.

Even Jesse had to admit that he’d have a hard time turning down that kind of offer, but he was smart enough to smell a trap before he was caught. It was something in their coy smiles and the way they spoke that made their half of the exchange feel rehearsed and dangerous.

By Wednesday, Jesse was comfortable enough with his disguise and the halls of McKinley to walk around freely in his quest to uncover more information about Rachel Berry. As long as Fickle Finn was up in the air about his relationship with Rachel, Jesse was at a loss when it came to how and in what manner to approach her.

The Gay BFF option was out (pun unintended) as the space was reluctantly filled by a slip of a boy called Kurt.

And Rachel didn’t seem to have any straight, male friends she hadn’t made out with (see: Puck—which was yet another unwelcome surprise for Jesse). 

Love Interest #2 was morally reprehensible, so that was out as well (and his dismissal of the role had nothing to do with his borderline pathological fury at the idea of coming in 2nd to anyone, especially the Human Barometer).

At long last, Jesse caught a lucky break when his wandering landed him in the same vicinity as Hudson’s locker just in time for the two cheerleaders from the day before to approach him. Quickly, Jesse ducked into a nearby alcove and pretended to read a flyer on the bulletin board posted there as he listened intently.

“Breadstix. Eight o'clock. Table for three?” the Latina cheerleader (Santana, was it?) purred.

For just a moment, Jesse held his breath, waiting for Hudson to do the right thing and turn her down.

“Cool.”

_Guess integrity’s too much to ask for these days_ , Jesse thought bitterly. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of dark brown hair and the fire engine red of Rachel Berry’s eye-catching ensemble. His stomach sank when he realized that one of either two things were about to happen.

Option #1) Hudson would say nothing of the date and string Rachel along, forcing Jesse to step in. (He had the beginnings of a plan that involved tying Hudson by his ankles and literally stringing him along on the drive back to Akron that weekend).

OR,

Option #2) He’d come clean. (Given the way Rachel lit up whenever she looked at Hudson, Jesse didn’t see this option ending well at all. He envisioned tears; lots and lots of tears. Something about girls crying always made Jesse feel uncomfortable).

At first, Jesse thought that Hudson was leaning toward Option #1 when Rachel asked what the other two girls wanted and her boyfriend fed her a manufactured reason: “Oh, nothing, just the time.”

But Rachel surprised Jesse.

Instead of swallowing the blatant lie, she fell into step beside her boyfriend, easily keeping pace (with Jesse following closely behind), and launched into a small speech.

“I know being my boyfriend is a challenge. I’m not Quinn, I don’t look like her, I’m not popular, and my personality, though exciting and full of surprises isn’t exactly low maintenance. But I’ll always be honest with you, painfully so, and all I ask in return is that you’re just honest with me.”

While he didn’t want to examine the feeling too closely, each word made something inside Jesse hurt. He was lost in thought and had to swerve to avoid running into Hudson’s suddenly motionless mountainous backside.

“I don’t think I want to be your boyfriend,” Hudson confessed.

Jesse had ducked around a nearby corner, so he could still hear, but he couldn’t see. He didn’t need to, however. The pain and shock in Rachel’s soft “What?” told him all he needed to know.

Jesse was already convinced that the boy who’d won and sorely abused Rachel’s affection was a colossal idiot, but that impression was further cemented by his next comment. “Rachel, you’re really awesome, but I think I need to connect with my inner rock star before I can fully commit to one woman. I need to find out who I am now.”

There’s something admirable in taking time to discover yourself after ending a relation—healthy, even. But there’s a time and a place and a way—all of which were wholeheartedly ignored by the “rock star.” Jesse considered confronting Hudson right then and there, but Rachel continued to surprise him (a habit that was growing more and more endearing to him every day).

“I’ll tell you who you are,” she shot back, her voice low and impassioned. Only Jesse’s trained ear could hear the slight tremor in her words. “You’re a scared little boy. You’re afraid of dating me because you think it might hurt your reputation, though which you’d never admit it, is very important to you. You hate what Quinn did to you, not just because it hurt, but because it was so humiliating.”

Hudson completely missed the raw emotion, choosing once more to focus on himself. “You’re freaking me out. It’s like you’re inside my head right now.”

But Rachel was having none of it.

“I just see you for who you are,” she continued. “Unlike you, who can only see me as this silly girl who made a fool out of herself in her first Glee Club rehearsal.” Rachel paused to take a deep breath in preparation for the final blow. “And that’s where you lose, Finn. Because if you take a second and you look at me, you’d realize that I’m the only person in your life who knows you and accepts you for who you are, no matter what.”

With that, she spun around and stalked away from Hudson. As she passed Jesse’s “hiding spot,” he saw her tears start to fall, and a part of him wanted to go after her, to comfort her in any way he could. But that would have to wait.

And in that moment, he not only hated Finn Hudson for doing that to her, but he also hated himself a little bit, too.


	3. Hello (I Love You) (pt. 2)

As an actor, Jesse was intrigued by the revelation that he was capable of hating himself even a little bit. Actors could only be successful if they had in-depth understanding of all emotions, and self-loathing had been elusive up until that moment. Now, Jesse could use this unexpected development to lend authenticity in roles to come.

It was an intriguing notion, in its own way.

As a teenage boy, however, Jesse was confused by the sudden surge of contempt he had for himself. Coming seemingly out of nowhere, his confusion was understandable. And the discovery of new emotions, while beneficial for future use, had no place in this present acting exercise. Emotional complications were unprofessional in this scenario, and Jesse was nothing if not a professional.

And yet…

He discovered a new emotion later that day: pride.

Feelings of pride were hardly foreign to someone like Jesse. He took pride in his appearance and his talent. He was proud of his performances and his accomplishments. He understood the importance of humility and often practiced looking humble in the mirror to avoid the downsides of pride, namely, potentially alienating himself from an otherwise adoring public. Everyone loved a little humility now and again.

But Jesse had never expected to feel pride with regard to someone else. Still, he couldn’t help but cheer Rachel on during her performance of “Gives You Hell” during glee club, which was watched from the comfort of his car via livestream thanks to his earlier surveillance measures. When the other glee clubbers joined in, Jesse found himself singing along as well, imagining that he was there in the room with Rachel, their voices combining into one powerful “F U” to a rightfully humiliated Finn Hudson. It was only when he caught sight of his reflection in the rear-view mirror—eyes shining, face practically split in half by his smile, and pure joy radiating from every pore—as well as the feeling of warmth consuming him, that Jesse realized he was proud of the heartbroken yet feisty girl with a bow on the front of her skirt.

And that realization was troubling in a uniquely different way.

* * *

It was time.

Ms. Corcoran had given Jesse two weeks to make contact and establish a connection with Rachel, and he was running out of time. More than that, he was eager to finally meet the girl who’d ignited not one but two unusual emotions for him (three, if he was being honest and counting the awe she’d inspired in him the day of sectionals). After her recent 190lb weight loss and empowered performance, Jesse decided that evening would be the best opportunity he was likely to have.

After Schuester’s less than enthusiastic response to Rachel’s performance, Jesse overheard her asking Kurt to go shopping with her for sheet music. One unnecessarily snarky reply later, and it was decided that Rachel would go alone. That’s when she would “accidentally” bump into Jesse and immediately recognize in him a friend with whom she could share her deepest, darkest secrets. Or something along those lines.

It was a perfect plan.

Jesse was completely prepared. He’d done the research, created a character, rehearsed lines and facial expressions, and picked out the perfect costume. This was his opening night, and he’d done everything to ensure he was ready. So, when he still couldn’t bring himself to get out of his car twelve minutes after arriving at the music store, he was mystified.

Jesse St. James started performing when he was still in diapers.

Jesse St. James did not get nervous before a performance.

Jesse St. James was a professional, dammit!

But the butterflies mocking him from the pit of his stomach told a different story.

Jesse sighed. If he waited any longer, he’d miss his opportunity.

It was time.

* * *

He spotted Rachel almost immediately after walking inside. She’d changed clothes before coming out. Gone was the bright red outfit and adorably misplaced bow. The lower half of her body was hidden by a row of bookshelves, but he was secretly pleased to note that the more subdued black sweater she now wore was imprinted with a giant yellowish-gold bow on the front. It was possibly the least attention-grabbing outfit he’d ever seen her in since beginning his research, but that damn bow gave him a comforting sense of familiarity.

Rachel was sorting through a stack of sheet music booklets at a rapid pace, clearly looking for something specific. For a minute, Jesse was content just to watch her. The speed with which she inspected and rejected each booklet reinforced several things he already knew: she was smart, a fast thinker, and goal-oriented—all necessary qualities for people like them (aka future stars).

It was only once Rachel had seemingly found the one she was looking for that Jesse knew it was time to approach her (and it certainly had _nothing_ to do with the fact that she was holding the booklet in a way that obscured her face—a fact that _definitely_ didn’t frustrate Jesse to no end). His original plan to “accidentally” bump into her was thrown out the window; instead, Jesse marched right up to her—pausing only momentarily to smirk at the image of Lionel Richie’s face obscuring Rachel’s—and gently pushed the booklet down with one finger. (He also _definitely_ didn’t breathe a sigh of relief at the unobstructed sight of her face).

“Lionel Richie, huh? One of my favorites.” The words came out faster than he intended, and Jesse was overcome by the sudden need to prop himself up on the bookshelf. He told himself leaning forward like that would make him look intense and mysterious, something she might find attractive. His reason for wanting her to find him attractive was unclear at first, but Jesse attributed the desire to his own ego. Good looking people like him deserved to be admired.

Rachel’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. You’re Jesse St. James. You’re in Vocal Adrenaline,” she said without blinking.

Jesse swallowed past the small lump forming in his throat. Rachel’s unwavering gaze was unsettling.

“And you’re Rachel Berry,” he replied, straightening back up and away from her natural intensity. “I saw you perform at sectionals. Your rendition of “Don’t Rain on My Parade” was flawed. You totally lacked Barbra’s emotional depth,” he added. It was the most egregious lie he’d ever told, but she didn’t need to know that. Nevertheless, he was impressed by her ability to take (false) criticism. His eyes flicked down to the sheet music book hanging limply in her hands and gently tugged it from her grasp. Tucking the booklet under his arm, he decided to reward her dignified reaction with an (unequivocally honest) compliment. “But you’re talented.”

With the booklet out of the way, Jesse was able to give her a once over. He still couldn’t see her feet, but his height advantage made it possible to sneak a peek over the edge of the bookshelf and take in the bottom half of her outfit. At the sight of a mismatched maroon skirt and a pair of yellow tights, Jesse had to turn quickly away to hide his grin. As he did, he caught her sweet, hesitant smile out of the corner of his eye.

For some unknown reason, he couldn’t breathe.

“This is one of my favorite haunts,” he continued as he walked away. “I like to come and flip through the celebrity biographies, pick up some lifestyle tips.” A quick (and admittedly unnecessary) glance behind him proved that Rachel was right on his heels, hanging onto every syllable he spoke as if his words were gospel.

“I’m a senior now, so this year’s kind of my victory lap. Snagging a fourth consecutive national championship would just be gravy,” he added without taking a breath and continuing his random movements throughout the store.

Jesse was torn between getting away from her so he could breathe again and not wanting to end their interaction. The result was a slew of voluntary information spilling out of his mouth without pause or adherence to any of the several carefully prepared scripts he’d written in the preceding weeks.

“I’m getting out of Ohio soon,” he admitted, bending over to reach for a book on a lower shelf—something to make this interaction seem random, like he had a different reason for being there in the first place. “I’ve got a full ride to a little school called the University of California, Los Angeles.” Unfortunately, Rachel picked that exact moment to catch up to Jesse and come to a stop directly in front of him, no bookshelves or barriers of any kind separating them. It was too much. She was too close. Her big, brown eyes were too open, too trusting. He couldn’t think straight. “Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s in Los Angeles.”

_Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s in Los Angeles…_

_Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s in Los Angeles?_

_Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s in Los Angeles?!_

Rachel blinked a few times then nodded, her eyes finally glancing around the room as if looking for an escape.

 _Of course, she’s looking for an escape, you idiot_ , Jesse screamed internally. _Are you even listening to yourself? You sound like a crazy person._

As he mentally berated himself, Jesse caught sight of a nearby piano. He thought back to her original reason for being in the store, and a plan quickly came together in his head.

 _“_ What do you say we take her for a spin?” Jesse asked, setting down the rest of the books he didn’t actually want or need and making a beeline for the piano.

Nothing since meeting Rachel made sense to Jesse. This entire conversation (or, monologue, if he was being honest with himself) was making even less sense. Music would have to be his saving grace. Only music could stop the insane rambling. The connection to music he was sure they both had might be enough to fix all the damage he’d done in the last two minutes.

Rachel, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly sold on the idea.

“Here? N-uh-uh-uh I’m kinda nervous.”

Eager to put his embarrassment behind him, Jesse was already sitting at the piano, booklet open to Lionel Richie’s “Hello,” and waiting for Rachel to join him without question or protest, so her hesitancy threw him for a moment.

He sighed.

“I remember when I used to get nervous,” Jesse lied, careful not to look her in the eye as he did. Before seeing Rachel at sectionals, before learning about her in preparation for this moment, before meeting her, nervousness was not something Jesse had experienced in years. He’d been performing far too long to succumb to anything as silly as nerves, but it was becoming increasingly clear with every passing moment that something (or everything) about Rachel _was_ making him nervous. He’d be damned if he’d let it show, though.

“Come on,” he urged her, turning back with the brightest show face he could muster. “I do this all the time. I like to give impromptu concerts for the homeless. It’s so important to give back.”

There was a moment of silence where Rachel didn’t argue or protest further, but she hadn’t exactly agreed either. Jesse wordlessly floundered as he tried to interpret her silence. Ultimately, he gave up and started to play, deciding that her reaction would tell him everything she wasn’t verbalizing.

_“I've been alone with you inside my mind…”_

Even without looking at her, Jesse could feel Rachel’s eyes burning a hole into the side of his head with the force of her stare. A quick glance proved his theory.

_“And in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times,  
“I sometimes see you pass outside my door…”_

As he continued to sing, Jesse found himself constantly looking over at Rachel. She was still standing there, uncertain, glancing nervously around and ducking her head as if hiding from the small crowd forming around them. Paying the onlookers no mind, Jesse worked even harder to get Rachel to join in by gathering up every ounce of passion he had and infusing it into his performance. Each time he made eye contact with Rachel, he conveyed his desire for her to join him.

_“Hello, is it me you're looking for?”_

Rachel bit her lip, and the corners of her mouth twitched. In that moment, Jesse knew he had her hooked.

 _“I can see it in your eyes,”_ she sang finally, and Jesse couldn’t help but think how amazing their voices sounded together. He smiled and nodded encouragingly at her. Deriving courage from his small gestures, Rachel continued with a little more confidence than before.

_“I can see it in your smile,  
“You're all I've ever wanted,  
“And my arms are open wide,  
“'Cause you know just what to say…”_

The pull between them as they sang was magnetic, neither capable of looking away. Jesse knew they were creating magic in that moment, and he suspected Rachel knew that as well. When she briefly closed her eyes, giving into the passion of the song, Jesse unleashed the full power of his stare, taking in as much of her as he could while simultaneously willing her to open them again. When they opened, Jesse did everything he could to ensure she kept her eyes on his.

 _“And you know just what to do,_  
“And I want to tell you so much,  
“I love you…”

Jesse quirked an eyebrow as the weight of the lyrics settled unironically between them. If her slight smile was any indication, Rachel was equally amused yet also aware of the truth. In this case, however, it was about the love they both had for music. Even so, any idiot could see their immediate and effortless chemistry. For someone like Jesse, with his aversion to love and inexperience with interpersonal relationships, he was more than a little surprised by this revelation.

 _“Oooh yeah,”_ Rachel vocalized while Jesse struggled to get these new feelings and thoughts under control.

Like an addict tempting fate, Jesse locked eyes with Rachel once more and glanced down to the spot on the bench next to him, imploring her to sit down. She complied slowly, and when she was seated, it was like the world around them had ceased to exist. It became solely about the two of them singing alongside one another, their vocals working in tandem to produce beautiful music and strengthened by their equally powerful emotional deliveries.

As the song came to a close, Jesse played the final notes, his mouth hanging slightly ajar as he realized what had just happened—the significance of it. It was only when the onlookers started clapping that both he and Rachel were pulled out of their own little world and able to look away.

Without thinking, Jesse leaned over and said, “We should do this more often.” It wasn’t part of the original plan at all.

 _Befriend her_ —those had been Shelby’s words.

 _Friends_ —that had been the plan.

Yet, here he was, turning his head to face her, glancing briefly down at her lips and asking, “How’s Friday night?”

When the force of her resulting smile shined brightly in her eyes, Jesse knew three things:

1) She was as much under his spell as he was hers. 

2) His plan was shot to hell.

3) And, as furious as Shelby was probably going to be, Jesse just couldn’t bring himself to care.


	4. Hello (I Love You) (pt. 3)

By the time Friday night rolled around, Jesse had managed to trick himself into believing that his recent personality changes were the combined result of his borderline pathological approach to method acting and the subpar eatery options in Lima. After his first official meeting with Rachel on Wednesday night, Jesse had felt something like guilt when he remembered his surveillance measures. Driven by that icky feeling, which—looking back—must have been the early stages of light food poisoning, Jesse bid Rachel goodnight and drove straight to the school where he immediately disassembled his A/V recording equipment. Aside from a few texts back and forth about their Friday night plans, Jesse had gone the entirety of Thursday and most of Friday without seeing or hearing from Rachel. And during that time, he was able to convince himself that his brief infatuation with Rachel was ridiculous and that his plan was still salvageable.

With his newly strengthened resolve, Jesse arrived at Rachel’s house with every intention of sticking to the “Just Friends” plan, which he’d revised earlier that day after a few notes of… _insistence_ …from Ms. Corcoran.

Part of the new plan required a bit of distancing on Jesse’s part. Distance, however, was incredibly difficult within the limiting confines of Rachel’s bedroom, which was where Jesse presently found himself. Given the inherent dangers of two hormonal teenagers in close physical proximity with one another, Jesse was forced to rely on mental distancing instead. But that option had its own set of obstacles.

First, no matter where Jesse looked, every inch of her room screamed _Rachel Berry_. The color scheme, the knickknacks, even the piano keys-themed area rug in front of her bed—all of it was 100% _Rachel Berry_. So, even when he tried looking away, he could find no reprieve from thoughts of _her_.

And it’s not like Jesse could exactly shut his eyes (which probably wouldn’t have helped anyway). The entire room and attached bathroom smelled like her. Everything was honey and vanilla with a touch of something Jesse couldn’t quite place. Then there was the softness of her comforter, still warm from where she’d been lying prior to his arrival. 

Finally, every word out of her mouth was absolutely fascinating. Rachel talked nonstop about musicals and plays and everything else he loved. At no point did she bring up a subject that he didn’t care for. And every sentence drew him further in.

The entire situation frustrated Jesse to no end. Here he was, trying his hardest to remain neutral and follow the plan, but Rachel threatened to overwhelm his senses.

Everywhere he looked: _Rachel_.

Everything he heard: _Rachel_.

Everything he touched: _Rachel_.

Every breath he took: _Rachel_.

The only sense left untouched by the girl standing before him was taste—a thought that suddenly struck him while Rachel was halfway through a story about a porcelain boot. Something in the pit of his stomach stirred at the realization, followed by the dull roar of blood rushing to his head. He was so overwhelmed by the idea that he barely heard the conclusion of Rachel’s story. 

“And since closing night fell on my second birthday, my dads had my Eliza Doolittle boot cast in porcelain.”

Jesse offered what he hoped was a friendly smile, but the mirror behind her only reflected his sudden discomfort. The tension in the room was thicker than the comforter clenched tightly in his fist as Jesse struggled to keep a grip on his sanity. If Rachel noticed the altered atmosphere, she said nothing. Instead, she merely set the boot down on the vanity behind her and resumed speaking.

“I can’t thank you enough for taking time out of your busy schedule. I-I-uh struggle to find a ‘Hello’ song that works for me.”

The slight tremor in Rachel’s voice succeeded in breaking Jesse’s misplaced concentration, giving him enough time to recover before she turned back around. 

“No worries,” he insisted, slumping forward somewhat in relief.

Jesse ducked down and snatched his bag off the floor, digging around inside as he sauntered over to her CD player.

“I’ve got it all figured out for you.” He paused with one finger hovering above the ‘Play’ button and turned to smirk at her. “Have you heard of a little show called _A Chorus Line_?”

“Of course,” Rachel beamed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Jesse’s brain went a bit fuzzy at the sight of Rachel’s radiant smile but quickly pressed down and replied, “Only ran on Broadway for 6,137 performances.”

The opening notes of “Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love” began playing, and Jesse gestured for Rachel to take the lead.

Two minutes.

It wasn’t a particularly long song, just two minutes. But in those two minutes, something unexpected had happened. Even with everything Jesse knew about Rachel, after everything he’d experienced since entering into her orbit, and even learning to expect the unexpected when it came to the girl singing with him, he still found himself surprised by her.

Jesse had spent a lifetime performing. Solos, duets, choral numbers. Endless songs, endless opportunities, and endless wins. Song choice and singing partner didn’t matter when it came to Jesse; his star always shined the brightest. He was the best, plain and simple, and a performer to his very core. But years of show face and winning had taken their toll. And it took a two-minute duet with Rachel for Jesse to pinpoint exactly how and why.

Immediately, it was clear that both Jesse and Rachel were equally incapable of simply singing along to the instrumental track. They vied for vocal dominance, dancing around the room like two magnets, subconsciously challenging one another and then rising to that challenge. It was exhilarating.

When the song came to an end—complete with a powerful convergence of their two voices into one—Rachel and Jesse stood less than a foot away from each other, their breathing heavy and chests heaving with exertion. In that moment, Jesse realized he’d long-since forgotten how much he loved music. He’d forgotten what it was truly like to connect fully with a song. He’d forgotten what _real_ passion was. And Rachel had reminded him of all that in just two minutes.

“You need to sit down,” Jesse ordered, grabbing Rachel’s hand and guiding her to the bench at the foot of her bed. While she sat down quietly, Jesse remained standing, unable to stay still, struggling to find the words to express his recent revelation.

“You were just trying to pull focus,” he said in between shallow breaths.

Rachel didn’t know where to look. “O-oh, well, there’s no one else here,” she replied with wide, questioning eyes.

“It was exhilarating!” Jesse interjected. “When you’re as incandescent as I am, no one ever tries to go toe-to-toe with you.” He heard the words coming out of his mouth and knew they sounded ridiculous, but a silent nod of the head from Rachel put a smile on Jesse’s face. Of course, she would get what he was trying to say. “It’s a shame you’re not in Vocal Adrenaline,” he added. “You and I would get every duet.”

Rachel shifted uncomfortably on the bench. That small, nervous movement coupled with the biting of her lower lip made it abundantly clear that praise from a peer was foreign to her.

A million thoughts and ideas swam through Jesse’s head: convince Rachel to join Vocal Adrenaline where she’d be appreciated, put a reminder in his planner to compliment her every day, kick the crap out of those McKinley rejects, curb stomp Hudson’s soul…

But most importantly, he wanted to kiss her uncertainty away. In fact, he’d never wanted to kiss a girl as much as he wanted to kiss Rachel in that moment.

_‘The plan,’_ whispered a small voice in the back of Jesse’s mind.

_‘Forget the plan! Forget Ms. Corcoran!’_ he thought bitterly.

_‘Forget UCLA, then,’_ the voice whispered again.

But then it hit him: they were _actors_ and Rachel was his scene partner.

Jesse moved slowly over to the bench, taking a seat so he was facing Rachel. “Have you ever worked on a kissing scene before?” he asked, his voice soft and low. “It’s incredibly important for a budding, young ingénue.”

Rachel said nothing, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards, and she leaned slightly forward. Jesse spotted his cue and leaned forward, taking a moment to tuck Rachel’s hair behind her ear. Now that he was right there—so close, he could feel the warmth radiating off of her skin, smell her honey and vanilla shampoo, and hear her heart pounding in her chest—it occurred to him that kissing her would not only ruin the plan in its entirety, but he could be crossing the line from leading man to villain. It also occurred to him that he didn’t care.

Jesse had heard of kisses that made people see fireworks and stars but, when his lips finally met Rachel’s, he saw nothing like that. He saw nothing at all behind his closed eyes.

But he did feel something: fire. Not a just a spark and not a raging fire at first. No. More like a smoldering sensation that burned slowly through his body. He wondered what it would take for the flames to consume them both, and his creative mind rewarded him with an image that forced Jesse to reluctantly break the kiss and try to think about _literally anything else_. 

“That was good,” he murmured, sneaking one last glance at her lips and weighing his options. Giving into his urges now would only lead to his ruin and hers. With as much will as he could muster, Jesse leaned back, struggling to keep his expression neutral. Then, without a bit of irony, he said the first thing that came to mind considering the context of their kiss. “I have some notes.”

All Rachel could do was nod and, for that, Jesse would be eternally grateful.

* * *

Jesse waited until the last possible minute to drive back to Carmel and spent the entire trip trying to convince himself that he was not going to Hell.

After their “date” Friday night, Jesse and Rachel had spent every waking moment of Saturday and Sunday together. When they were apart, they kept in constant contact via texts. Since they were completely in sync with their interests, hobbies, and passions, the conversation flowed naturally between them. When they weren’t talking, they were singing or “practicing kissing scenes.” Jesse found that it was harder to argue his way out of Hell every time they _“practiced.”_

He texted Ms. Corcoran when he arrived home late Sunday night, mentioning that he’d made contact with Rachel. The details of their meeting could wait until Monday’s Vocal Adrenaline practice. That would give him enough time to come up with either a plausible explanation for his behavior or, at the very least, a believable lie.

Jesse’s phone buzzed just as he flopped onto his bed. His grin fell when he saw that it was only Ms. Corcoran’s reply followed by a request for some solo options. Jesse chuckled darkly and sent “Highway to Hell” without another thought before sinking back into the pillows and calling Rachel.

* * *

“You’ll never guess who I spoke to last night,” Ms. Corcoran said once Jesse was seated in her office.

Everything about the situation screamed “DANGER,” but Jesse’s face and body went on autopilot. He’d managed to get away with half-truths when discussing sojourn in Lima with Ms. Corcoran on Monday. As he kept his mask up, his mind raced to come up with an excuse for anything his choir director might say.

Ms. Corcoran concluded that Jesse was planning on remaining silent, so she continued. “I got a visit yesterday from Mr. Will Schuester. He stopped by after practice with an interesting accusation.”

Jesse deliberately raised one eyebrow, still refusing to say a word.

“Yes, apparently, Mr. Schuester and his merry band of misfits are under the impression that you are dating Rachel and doing it solely for the purpose of destroying their team from the inside.”

“Ah,” Jesse mouthed wordlessly.

“Do you care to make any amends to the report you gave me on Monday?”

Jesse shook his head.

“No?” Ms. Corcoran prompted.

Jesse shook his head again, but he knew that he was quickly losing the advantage.

“Mm,” Ms. Corcoran murmured. “Well, if you think of anything you might have missed, please be sure to pass that information along, Jesse.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jesse stood to leave, but Ms. Corcoran stopped him.

“I’d like to see her,” she said quietly. “Do you think you could convince her to meet you here someday this week?”

“I could try,” Jesse offered.

“Thank you.”

Jesse’s hand was resting on the doorknob when Ms. Corcoran spoke again.

“I mean, it’s the least you can do since you’re _clearly_ _dating my_ _daughter_.”

* * *

Once he was safe inside the privacy of his own bedroom, Jesse whipped out his cellphone and sent a text to Rachel.

**JSJ** : _I take it you told the club about me._

It didn’t take long for Rachel to reply.

**RB** : _Not exactly._

**JSJ** : _???_

**RB** : _So, there’s this guy in the club. We’re co-captains, and we dated for a while. He broke up with me so he could go on a date with some cheerleaders._

**RB** : _Anyway, he told me he wanted to get back together on Monday. I told him no, but he wouldn’t leave me alone._

**RB** : _It just sort of slipped out. Then he went and told everyone else. I’m sorry._

**RB** : _If it makes you feel any better, a bunch of them threatened to kick me out of the club because of this…_

Of course, Frankenweenie wanted Rachel back. And, of course, he blabbed. Jesse’s knuckles were turning white from squeezing his phone so hard. His hand went limp when he read the last message, making him almost drop the phone.

Kick her out? Because of him? _This_ … Whatever _this_ was? If Rachel was kicked out of the glee club, she’d be crushed.

**JSJ** : _I’m sorry to hear that._

Jesse bit his lip. This would be the perfect opportunity to execute Ms. Corcoran’s latest order. He sighed, torn between following directions and the nagging suspicion that doing so wouldn’t be in Rachel’s best interest. Something squirmed in his gut as he composed a follow-up message.

**JSJ** : _I wish I could come see you, but I’m slammed this week, and I’m getting the feeling that this is something we should talk about in person. Are you able to come visit me? Tomorrow after school maybe? Vocal Adrenaline practice will be over by the time you get here. You can meet me in the auditorium._

The wait between pressing “send” and receiving Rachel’s reply was excruciating. When his phone finally buzzed, Jesse exhaled in relief.

**RB** : _Yes. I think you’re right. I’ll be there at 5:30 tomorrow._

It wasn’t until much later that Jesse finally identified the strange sensation surging in his stomach as guilt.

* * *

The tick of the second hand was deafening in the thick silence of Ms. Corcoran’s office. Both Jesse and Shelby watched the time draw closer and closer to Rachel’s arrival. Neither had said a word since Ms. Corcoran had finished detailing the plan.

Jesse was to meet Rachel on stage and do everything in his power to secure his newfound relationship with her.

_“And if you can somehow plant the idea of transferring here in her mind without explicitly mentioning it, that could possibly be beneficial to us both,”_ Ms. Corcoran had said.

Jesse wasn’t sure how he’d do that or why he liked that idea, and he was working on puzzling out Ms. Corcoran’s meaning when the minute hand reached 5:25. They both stood up and headed toward the auditorium.

It was showtime.

As promised, Rachel stepped timidly onto the stage at precisely 5:30 pm.

“Jesse?” she called out, looking around.

Rachel’s gaze swept around the large area, almost landing on Ms. Corcoran’s concealed location. To distract her, Jesse flipped the remote switch on the lights, succeeding in drawing Rachel’s attention away from the hiding spot of her birth mother.

“Who’s there?” Rachel ventured, clutching her purse to her side. “I carry a rape whistle!” she added.

“Just me,” Jesse chuckled before a fresh wave of guilt hit him at the sight of Rachel’s obvious relief. Still, knowing this show had an audience, he pressed on. “Most spots are 2,500 watts. This one is 10 times brighter. We have to wear sunscreen on stage, but it’s worth it.” He moved in Rachel’s direction, climbing onto the stage and only turning off the lights when he was sure he had her complete attention.

“I guess everything is bigger and brighter here,” Rachel muttered, and Jesse chuckled again.

Ms. Corcoran would have to accept that as his way of “planting the idea.”

“I have to ask you something,” Rachel said, suddenly serious.

Jesse crossed his arms in anticipation. He was supposed to lead the conversation, but Rachel had a way of sending him and his plans to Hell.

“And I need you to tell me the truth, because if you don’t there will be consequences, life-and-death consequences,” Rachel continued. “Because if I give myself to you, and it turns out that you’re just playing me, I might die. Not literally, but emotionally. It’ll be the kind of heartbreak that girls like me hold for the rest of their lives, like Barbra in _The Way We Were_.”

As she spoke, Jesse grew more and more aware of how badly he’d messed everything up. It was obvious that Rachel’s immediate infatuation had grown into something more, especially if she was willing to go against her club’s ultimatum. Even worse, Jesse realized that he wanted her to do it. The relief that washed over him when she didn’t immediately break things off made that abundantly clear.

Jesse exhaled, unaware he’d been holding his breath, and laughed aloud. “Oh my god,” he exclaimed, feeling suddenly lighter than he had in days (weeks, years, whatever), as he moved forward to take Rachel in his arms.

“What?” Rachel demanded, her voice small and somewhat petulant, probably thinking that he was laughing _at_ her.

“You’re more of a drama queen than I am,” Jesse explained quickly. When that didn’t seem to quell her worry, he took a step back and held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Jesse.”

Rather than taking his hand, Rachel looked down at it then back up at him. “I know who you are,” she said.

“You know Jesse St. James, the star of Vocal Adrenaline, your competition at regionals.” Jesse reached out and took her hands in his. “I wanna introduce you to Jesse, the guy who’s nuts about you. The guy who would never hurt you.”

It was the first honest thing he’d said to her, and he meant every word. Rachel must’ve sensed his sincerity because she leaned into his embrace moments later. Jesse closed his eyes and breathed her in, cherishing the moment and wishing it could last.

“No one can know,” Rachel whispered.

She had no idea how true that statement was.

Jesse took her face in his hand, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “I understand.”

When Rachel leaned up to kiss him, Jesse’s eyes flew open, suddenly remembering their audience. Sure enough, Ms. Corcoran stood in the wings, watching him kiss Rachel. From the slight smirk on her face, Jesse concluded that she was satisfied. Clearly, she believed he was still sticking to the plan, and he was perfectly content to let her believe that. For now, they could all get what they wanted.

But as Ms. Corcoran walked away, the sensation that had been pestering Jesse earlier returned in full force.

If Ms. Corcoran was willing to use him to manipulate her daughter, did she truly have Rachel’s best interests at heart? And what if she decided that she didn’t want Jesse anywhere near Rachel? A million “what ifs” hit him all at once, and that nagging sensation morphed into a very real fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, the story tracks with the canon story line from season 1. The divergence is going to happen a bit later. It's important to get Jesse's side of the story leading up to that divergence for it to make sense. 
> 
> I previously mentioned a 10-15 chapter story arc, but that was for covering the events of season 1. As of right now, I have the entire thing planned out as a self-contained story. Depending on the response I get, however, I also have plans to continue the story by re-writing each season based on the changes I make to the story line in this "work."


	5. Ray of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I put that Rachel was turning 16 in chapter 1 because I can't math good. If she was born in 1994, she should've been turning 15; however, unless she skipped a grade and I either forgot about it or it wasn't mentioned in the show, sophomores in the U.S. school system typically start the year at 15 and turn 16 (9th: 14-15, 10th: 15-16, 11th: 16-17, and 12th: 17-18). If she didn't skip a grade, then Ryan Murphy might've made a mistake. Either way, in this story, she just turned 16 because I do what I want. 
> 
> *I got the power!*

_The Wiggles: Live in Concert_

_One Night Only_

Jesse looked down at his ticket then back up at the marquee.

“Um, Jesse?”

“Yeah, Rach?” he replied, still alternating between glancing up at the sign and back at the tickets in his hand.

“Is everything okay?” Rachel asked hesitantly. Her voice was small and timid, almost as if she was afraid of his reaction.

“No, _Rach_ , everything is not okay,” Jesse snapped, gesturing wildly around them. “Does this look _okay_? In what universe would any of this be _okay_? I just spent two and a half hours driving from Akron to pick you up and then another hour and change driving to freaking Toledo—almost four hours total—all while laboring under the impression that I was surprising you with Celine Dion tickets, only to get here and find out that the concert was last week. And yet…” He waved the tickets in front of her face. “How is it that we’re living in the twenty-first century, the age of information and technology, and these, these, these,” he threw his hands up, “con artists think it’s okay to run a theater like this? It’s not like I bought these damn tickets from a scalper or some shady site; I bought them on Sunday from the freaking theater’s website.

“And now,” he continued, his voice bordering on hysterical, “these asshats are just like, ‘our bad, websites glitch, but—here—have some complimentary tickets to a show where your mere presence makes you look like a pedophile.’

“So, no, Rach, everything is clearly not _okay_ ,” Jesse finished, finally turning to face a wide-eyed Rachel.

…And immediately felt terrible.

Aside from her wide, somewhat misty eyes that were glued to him, Rachel’s lips were quivering, and she was shaking. (Although, he reasoned that the weather was at least partially to blame for her shivers).

Jesse sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have exploded on you like that. That was…that was mean and…and…and, while proportionate to the situation, completely out of line. Just because I’m frustrated, doesn’t mean I should be taking it out on you. Please forgive me.”

“It’s okay,” Rachel mumbled.

“No, it is not ok—” Jesse growled but cut himself off as Rachel’s eyes widened even further—a feat he did not think possible. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Sorry. It’s not okay,” he continued, straining against his internal rage to speak softly. “With me in Akron and you in Lima, we barely get to see each other. I wanted tonight to be special, and now it’s ruined.”

Jesse hung his head in defeat.

“I don’t think it’s ruined.”

Jesse picked his head back up to squint at Rachel.

“Really?” he laughed mirthlessly. “What makes you say that?”

Slowly, Rachel reached out and took one of Jesse’s hands in hers. “Because we’re together. I won’t lie, Celine Dion would’ve been amazing, and I think it’s really sweet that you remembered how much I love her, even though I know she’s not really your favorite, but it doesn’t matter what we do—as long as we get to do it together, I’m happy.”

Jesse shook his head in disbelief. “Really?” he asked again, this time with true sincerity.

Rachel nodded. “Really, really.”

“Even if it means spending a night surrounded by loud, sticky children hyped up on sugar and screaming along to nonsensical lyrics about…I don’t know…learning how to tie your shoe?”

“Mhm,” Rachel hummed in agreement. “And if it’s really that bad, we can always leave early. Toledo’s a big place. I’m sure we’d have no problem finding something fun to do.”

Jesse took a few deep breaths in and out as he considered Rachel’s words.

“Sounds like a plan,” he decided.

At the sight of Rachel’s megawatt smile, a surge of warmth coursed through Jesse’s body. He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her into his arms. “Aren’t you just an adorkably perfect little ray of sunshine?” he muttered into her hair.

“Really?” Rachel asked, pulling back a bit to look up at him.

Jesse nodded. “Really, really.”

In typical Rachel-esque fashion, her eyes went wide again, only this time, she was looking any and everywhere but him. She was also biting nervously on her lower lip—another signature Rachel Berry move.

“Did I say something wrong?” Jesse asked.

“No, no, no,” Rachel was quick to reassure him. “I guess I’m just not used to people saying such nice things about me…”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Rachel simply shrugged.

“I know we haven’t known each other all that long, but I’m pretty sure I could come up with a decently long list of your compliment-worthy attributes. And not just easy, superficially ‘nice’ stuff, either.”

Without a verbal reply, Rachel ducked her head and held on to Jesse with even more strength and determination than he would have thought her capable of. Then she was shaking again—shivering or crying, he couldn’t tell—so he suggested they head inside.

* * *

They left during the intermission.

The concert wasn’t as bad as Jesse thought it would be, but the curious stares from parents and the screams from children with rapidly dropping blood sugars proved to be entirely too much for them to handle—a conclusion Jesse came to as he waited for Rachel to use the bathroom. By the time she’d re-emerged, he’d found a nearby carnival on his phone, and it didn’t take much convincing to get Rachel on-board with his new plan.

Now that they were free from the hellish hordes of children and their Wiggles overlords, Jesse finally felt comfortable enough to follow through on his more physically affectionate urges. He’d kissed her when they got outside and, again, when they’d arrived at and gotten into the car. They’d held hands on the drive to the carnival with plenty of kisses at red lights. And when they’d arrived at the fairgrounds, they may or may not have engaged in the lengthy make out session they’d denied themselves earlier in the evening—neither one wanting to risk ending up on a sex offender list by pawing at the other in front of children.

Rachel and Jesse’s time at the carnival passed in relative contentment. They rode the Scrambler several times at Jesse’s suggestion after he discovered that Rachel shrieked with glee each time the centrifugal force sent her body slamming into his. They rode several other rides, too, as long as they didn’t go up too high or upside down per Rachel’s request. They ate corn on the cob, falafel kabobs, giant pretzels, and enjoyed shaved ice for desert after Rachel informed Jesse that cotton candy was not vegan (this didn’t stop him from staring forlornly at the vendor as they passed, though). But the best part was the games.

Competitors by nature, Rachel and Jesse spent the better part of their time at the carnival locked in a heated struggle for domination at every game stall. Without meaning to, they alternated between winning and losing. Rachel would win for a game or two, and then it would be Jesse’s turn to emerge victorious. The other poor carnival patrons didn’t stand a chance whenever the competitive duo showed up.

Most of the prizes were cheesy and lame, and Rachel suggested passing the stuffed toys and other trinkets off to small kids with little hope of winning. It wasn’t until they were about to leave that one prize in particular caught Rachel’s eye. In another surprising feat of strength, she grabbed Jesse by the hand and pulled him over to a line of Skee Ball machines situated near the entrance/exit area.

“Skee Ball? Really?” Jesse chuckled.

“Mhm.” Rachel nodded in confirmation. “Really, really.”

“I think I’m gonna sit this one out. Maybe take a load off on one of those benches over there.”

No longer truly listening, Rachel only nodded once more, her eyes fixed on the machine. Jesse smiled to himself and wandered over to an empty bench to wait. Fifteen minutes and several dollars later, Rachel jumped up and down in celebration while waiting for the Skee Ball attendant to fetch her prize. It was only when the object was safely tucked in her grasp that Rachel finally noticed Jesse was no longer by her side. She looked frantically around for a moment before Jesse took pity on her and called her over, unable to shake the silly grin from his face at her noticeable excitement.

“Look what I won!” Rachel cheered, thrusting a stuffed bear into Jesse’s hands.

Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a yellow Care Bear. It had a smiling sun sewed onto its belly with yellow thread.

“It’s called the Funshine Bear,” Rachel informed him.

“I can see that,” Jesse chuckled. “So, you win a prize, but I have to carry it? Is that how this works?”

Rachel’s grin faltered slightly. “No, I just…I was just…what you said earlier…about me. An adorkable ray of sunshine? I won it for you. That way, if you ever get really mad and I’m not there, you can just look at it and think of me. Kind of like your own, personal ray of sunshine whenever we’re apart…” she trailed off, her voice getting softer and softer the longer she spoke.

Jesse clenched his teeth and his jaw twitched as he stared down at the Care Bear clutched in his hands. He didn’t know how to respond or even what to think. Nothing in his life had prepared him for whatever he was feeling in that moment.

Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Jesse managed to finally croak, “Isn’t it usually customary for the boy to win prizes for the girl?”

“That’s not very progressive of you, Jesse St. James,” Rachel huffed. “Well, if you don’t want it, I guess I’ll keep it,” she added, reaching out to snatch the bear back.

Jesse jumped off the bench, making sure to hold the bear out of her reach. “Just kidding, Rach. It’s perfect. Thank you,” he said, swooping down to give her a kiss.

Rachel grumbled something unintelligible.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t catch that.”

“Nothing,” Rachel grumbled.

Jesse glanced at the down at the bear and grinned. “Looks like someone could use their own personal ray of sunshine,” he teased, lightly tapping the bear’s nose all over Rachel’s face in pretend kisses. Soon enough, she was giggling right along with him.

“What do you say we hit the Scrambler one last time before we head out?” Jesse offered.

“Sounds good to me.”

* * *

The Berry household was dark when Jesse’s car pulled into the driveway.

“Oh, I guess my dads aren’t home yet.”

“Guess not.”

Over in the passenger seat, Rachel twiddled her thumbs.

“Wanna come inside?” she finally asked.

In reply, Jesse killed the engine and hopped out, making his way around to the passenger side door before Rachel could even undo her seat belt. He all but pulled her from the car and dragged her to the front door. Then it took every ounce of his self-control not to tap his foot as he waited for her to find her keys. The yellow Care Bear—tucked safely in her purse for their final turn on the Scrambler—proved to be a major obstacle in her search. Jesse snatched the stuffed toy out of her bag and reached his own hand in, finally succeeding in locating the keys. Once the door was unlocked and they were inside, Jesse’s impatience took over, and he hauled Rachel behind him as he barreled up the stairs and toward her room.

“I’m not exactly reluctant to make with the kissing, Jesse, but tearing my arm off is really going to put a dampener on this whole night,” Rachel said in between heavy breaths as they crossed the threshold into her bedroom.

“Who needs two arms?” Jesse muttered.

He dropped her purse on a nearby chair and twisted back to Rachel, grabbing her face in his hands and kissing her hard. Rachel started to moan—

No, wait, not moan. Rachel was trying to say something.

Grudgingly, Jesse broke the kiss, allowing her to speak. “Yes?”

“Could we maybe, you know, slow down…a bit?”

Jesse exhaled forcefully through his nose but backed up a bit, though not without a significant amount of effort on his part.

An image of two magnets flashed in his mind. One moment Rachel was pulling him in, but then she’d switch the next, forcefully repelling him. Jesse grit his teeth as he waited for her to get settled and flip back.

It didn’t take long.

First, the light was switched on. It didn’t do much for the mood, but Jesse figured if she was comfortable enough with her body, then he didn’t mind. Naturally, she wanted some music. He was pleased to hear the beginning notes from “Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love” start to play. (He’d been wondering where he’d left that CD). Then there was the coat. Of course, that had to come off, though he wasn’t quite sure why she’d needed to do it. A heavy sweater followed the coat, removed by slow, hesitant fingers. For the briefest of moments, Jesse wondered if he was supposed to take a seat and enjoy the show, but the cardigan underneath the sweater—geez, that girl wore a lot of layers—remained firmly in place.

One shy look up at him through her lashes alerted Jesse to Rachel’s desire to resume, and he was more than happy to grant her wish.

Like everything he did, Jesse gave kissing his complete and undivided attention, and aimed to be the best—the chances of which, he didn’t doubt. Kissing Rachel was different than any other girl he’d kissed before, though. She’d been scared and uncertain the first night he’d come over, but Rachel was nothing if not a quick study. Once she knew the basics—which he was more than happy to teach her—she’d improved at such a rapid pace, he’d momentarily considered her behavior during their first kiss to be an act. (That thought had unsettled him, so he’d banished it almost as soon as it crossed his mind). Now, after many, many, many kisses, she approached the activity just like he did. To them, it was just another competition to be won.

As Jesse guided Rachel toward her bed, they each fought for the upper hand. The pacing, the intensity, whose hands went where—it was all up for grabs in their fight for intimate dominance. And if this was a battle, Jesse was winning. He had to be. If Rachel’s willing march backward was any indication, he was in charge. And, to him, leading was the same as winning.

Jesse scored another victory when Rachel’s knees hit the edge of her bed and another when they fell onto the mattress. Whether she dragged him or not wasn’t the point; he landed on top and that’s all that mattered. Another win, in his opinion.

Assured by his current winning streak, Jesse broke the kiss to deliver the final blow. “We should do it,” he urged, pressing a kiss to her jaw, then another to her neck.

“It?”

“Totally,” Jesse replied breathlessly between mini assaults on every inch of skin that wasn’t covered by Rachel’s cardigan and fully buttoned blouse. “Haven’t you done it before?”

“No,” Rachel squeezed out between kisses. She pressed against his chest, holding him back at a short distance. “Have you?”

_No._

He wasn’t exactly inexperienced, but Vocal Adrenaline took up a not inconsiderable amount of his time, leaving very little left over for a social life. Some of the girls on the team had expressed an interest, but it never lasted longer than a mutually beneficial… _whatever_ …in an empty green room or behind the curtains in the wings. They were all attractive, and he was sure they had _great personalities_ , but time was always of the essence, and he’d never been particularly drawn to any of them. Then, as time passed, his reputation grew, making it harder and harder—maybe difficult would be a better choice of words—to “go all the way” without his secret getting out. But Rachel was a neutral party, and he was more than interested.

Still, admitting that he was a virgin felt like a loss, so he quickly crafted an answer that was intentionally vague. “What do you think?” Jesse felt Rachel’s hand buckle as he leaned back down to kiss her again. “It’s no big deal,” he added, sliding a hand down her side and attacking the side of her neck.

Just when Jesse thought he’d convinced her, just when he thought he’d won, Rachel’s tiny voice uttered five words that made him stop in his tracks: “For a girl, it is.”

_For a girl, it is._

_For a girl, it is._

_For a girl, it is._

Those words repeated over and over in Jesse’s mind as he stared down at the wide-eyed girl lying beneath him. They _pinged_ around his brain like the ball in a pinball machine, each _ping_ piercing through his hazy lust. If she hadn't looked so sweet, so innocent, he might have tried to convince her to keep going. Insisted, maybe. He’d heard stories of guys getting a girl to follow through after calling them a tease, but those five words and those big, brown eyes made it impossible for him to press further. Combined, they were like one, big, flashing neon sign that read: STOP!

“Fine,” he choked out, pushing himself off the bed and away from the girl who was entirely unaware that he was yelling at his own conscience and not her.

Jesse stumbled blindly away from Rachel, propelled farther and faster by the sight of her big, stupid doe eyes misting over. Reaching wildly for his jacket so he could get out of there (and cover up a particularly alert member of his anatomy), he succeeded in knocking over some of Rachel’s things before scrambling out the door.

It took ten minutes of driving through the sleepy streets of Lima before Jesse was able to make sense of what had just happened. His entire body was still vibrating, so he pulled over to the side of the road just before he hit the on-ramp to the freeway. After a moment of reflection, Jesse realized that his body was trembling with rage. He was furious. Not with Rachel, of course, never with Rachel; but with himself, the situation—rage that started during the drive from Akron, grew during the ticket fiasco, and was compounded by the unidentified emotion he’d felt when holding that silly bear—

_“That way, if you ever get really mad and I’m not there, you can just look at it and think of me. Kind of like your own, personal ray of sunshine whenever we’re apart…”_

Jesse’s head snapped up, and he reached over to the passenger seat, only to realize that the bear was still in Rachel’s purse…at her house…where she was most likely crying by now. After what had just happened, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she was past the point of crying and well on to hating him already.

Jesse clenched his jaw and frowned to keep from pouting like a petulant child. At that thought, he laughed—a hollow, mirthless sound, but a laugh, nonetheless. He didn’t want to look like a child when there was no one around to see him, and, yet, there he was, about to cry over his lost Care Bear.

And cry, he did—the entire way home. 


	6. Burning Up

By the time Jesse got home it was well past midnight—not that the time of his arrival mattered in the slightest. With his parents vacationing in Bali, the only other souls taking up residence in the St. James house were his older sister and brother. And while they’d normally look for any excuse to tarnish their little brother’s shine, Jesse doubted Jules and Johnny would ever be coherent enough to tell the time.

As always, he wasn’t wrong. Jesse’s first stop upon entering the house was the kitchen where he found Jules half-way through her late-night binge of Twinkies and Doritos that would never make it through her digestive track. Jesse made a face and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. On his way out of the kitchen, Jesse wished her a “Happy Purging,” and received a single-fingered salute for his courtesy.

Johnny, on the other hand, looked like he hadn’t moved since Jesse had last seen him. The second eldest St. James spawn was lying on the floor of his bedroom, surrounded by empty whip cream canisters. While this was hardly unusual, Jesse wasn’t exactly used to seeing it. Normally, the door was closed. He cautiously entered his brother’s room and nudged Johnny’s foot with his own.

Johnny grumbled.

“Just making sure you’re not dead. Can’t have the noxious odors of your corpse infecting my vocal chords,” Jesse quipped.

Satisfied that his brother was still breathing and that he’d done his due diligence in checking on him, Jesse turned to leave and was completely unsurprised by the empty canister that flew past his head.

“I’ll just close this…” Jesse mumbled, pulling the door shut behind him.

It was only after the door to his own bedroom was closed and locked with him safely inside that Jesse finally dropped his carefree façade. The darkened house and his siblings’ own self-involvement prevented them from seeing the puffy redness of his eyes and the disheveled state of his hair. Just because Jules and Johnny were utter disasters didn’t mean that he could be equally transparent about his own mess; he was the superior sibling, after all.

Standing alone in his locked room, Jesse was all too aware of the crushing silence that surrounded him. Even with the lamp on, the muted colors and sparse furnishings made the room feel entirely unwelcoming and cold. It was the exact opposite of the warm, inviting, lived-in atmosphere of…

Jesse shook his head and marched over to his desk. He booted up his laptop and pressed ‘play’ on a seemingly innocuous playlist as fast as humanly possible, hoping the music would fill the room and distract him from any traitorous thoughts of…

He shook his head again, and the force of the motion made his neck muscles spasm violently. Before he knew it, Jesse was curled up in a ball on the floor, trying not to whimper from the all-consuming pain of a severe charley horse. He wasn’t quite sure how long he remained fetal, waiting for the intense throbbing agony to subside, but by the time he could hear above the sound of blood rushing in his ears, Madonna’s “Burning Up” was playing, and Jesse groaned at the irony.

Still unable to move, Jesse was forced to listen to the song in its entirety and endure the images that the lyrics inspired. Images of Rachel. Images of him and Rachel. Images of him and Rachel in her bedroom. Images of him and Rachel in her bedroom doing…things, stuff, whatever. It was pure unadulterated torture.

Deep, deep down, Jesse knew he deserved it—the pain, the torture. It was probably the Universe’s brand of karma—an ironic act of retribution.

Jesse St. James had always lived by a code, especially when it came to girls. His code allowed him to manage expectations—both his and theirs—as well as blame for when his ambition and dreams inevitably took a front seat to anyone else’s feelings. When getting involved with anyone, Jesse always made sure they knew that “casual” and “dalliance” were the best they could hope for with him. Either that or “mutually beneficial.”

Then Rachel Berry happened. 

Rachel Berry with her stupid big, brown, Bambi eyes and her infuriating million-dollar smile and her insipidly adorable innocence and her unwisely unguarded laughter—all of the things that made Rachel Berry _Rachel Berry_ and pierced through years of Jesse’s practiced aura of indifference, making him want her.

And, Holy Hammerstein, did he want her.

The song faded out just as the pain in Jesse’s head and neck eased. Trying hard not to analyze what he was about to do, Jesse hobbled back over to his desk and put the song on repeat. Then he pulled his aptly named Lock Box of Secrets out of the bottom drawer, opening it with the key that was never _not_ on his person.

The Lock Box of Secrets had four items:

Item #1: His father’s broken watch—an heirloom from several generations back, the “theft” of which had been blamed on his brother’s addiction.

Item #2: A participation ribbon from the first (and last, thank you very much) competition Jesse failed to win.

Item #3: The crayon portrait of his parents, Jules, Johnny, and himself entitled “Our Happy Family” he’d drawn at sleep-away camp when he was 8.

And the most recent addition:

Item #4: A 2x6 photo set of him and Rachel from an impromptu modeling session in a Lima Mall photo booth on their second date.

Jesse took Item #4 out and angled it up against the box. For the briefest of moments, he reconsidered what he was about to do. It was unbecoming and felt wrong on a multitude of levels. All the levels. Every single one. But the simmering want in him, coupled with Madonna’s electric lyrics, had boiled over into a burning need. With one last glance back at the door to double check it was locked, Jesse pushed through the queasy wrongness of it all with his unparalleled drive, hell-bent on achieving relief.

When he was done and the Lock Box of Secrets was safely hidden away, Jesse finally noticed the flashing green light on his phone alerting him to a new text message. The notification read _Rachel_ and the message itself was short:

_I’m sorry_.

Of all the new feelings and unidentified emotions he’d experienced since meeting Rachel Berry, as he read those two little words, the overwhelming self-loathing that hit him like a high-speed train was probably the easiest to identify and the worst to feel.

“I’m a monster,” he whispered to his empty room.

* * *

He wasn’t sure why he did it—not really—but in a fit of masochistic humor, Jesse suggested “Burning Up” when Ms. Corcoran asked for recommendations first thing at Vocal Adrenaline’s Saturday morning rehearsal. The suggestion was met with a few snickers by those aware of the lyrical content and meaning, but the reigning reaction was VA’s typical brand of apathy.

Jesse wasn’t quite sure what Ms. Corcoran expected from the mob of sleep-deprived teens sprawled out around him. Even adequately well-rested, this lot was the most unimaginative and uninspired assortment of adolescents ever assembled. He alone was the driving force behind Vocal Adrenaline’s creativity.

Ms. Corcoran was a powerhouse director, capable of corralling the otherwise unruly teens and bending their many wills to a single purpose (namely, hers), but creativity wasn’t exactly her strongest point either. Dakota Stanley had been a necessary evil for a reason. It was why Jesse often spent hours in Ms. Corcoran’s office and exchanged after-hours messages with her; she needed his ideas.

Secretly, Jesse imagined that Ms. Corcoran had once been nearly as creative as he was, but she’d been broken by her failed attempt at fame. Failure does that kind of thing to a person, or so he figured. Jesse didn’t plan on finding out for himself whether that was true or not. He’d also toyed with the idea that she’d simply never had it, which would explain her abysmal career prior to taking a position as Vocal Adrenaline’s coach. She had drive—of that he was certain. Ambition, too. And she certainly wasn’t hurting for talent. So, maybe, creativity was where she fell short.

(The great mystery of Shelby Corcoran’s failed attempt at stardom was one that endlessly intrigued Jesse. That someone with a surplus of talent, drive, ambition, and work ethic not making it on Broadway or elsewhere in the industry was an idea that constantly plagued him during his waking hours and fueled the fires of his nightmares. Puzzling out the ‘why’ and ‘how’ of Ms. Corcoran’s failure was vital if Jesse wanted to avoid a similar fate.)

(Recently, Jesse had also wondered if a certain doe-eyed ingénue had anything to do with it, but his carefully calculated and meticulously metered thoughts always morphed into an unrecognizable, chaotic mess of scattered nonsense when his mind strayed in _that_ direction.)

Issues of creativity aside, “Burning Up” wasn’t a viable option for Regionals. Jesse knew it. Ms. Corcoran knew it. Jesse knew that Ms. Corcoran knew it, and Ms. Corcoran knew that Jesse knew it. Jesse knew that Ms. Corcoran knew that he knew it just like Ms. Corcoran knew that Jesse knew that she knew it. Those who snickered didn’t know it, but they were idiots, and it’s easier to forgive or simply overlook that kind of harmless ignorance. The same could be said for the rest of the team since they didn’t even seem to recognize the song. But for the team captain and the coach, no such sentiment was applicable. And, as they stared one another down, trying to decipher exactly _what_ and _how much_ the other one knew, it became increasingly clear that both of them had something to hide.

“Well, if there are no other suggestions…” Ms. Corcoran probed, her eyes remaining fixed on Jesse; finally, with a sigh, she concluded, “‘Burning Up’ it is, then.”

All throughout the grueling 12-hour rehearsal that followed, Jesse felt Ms. Corcoran’s eyes on him, making him sweat more than the unforgiving (if wholly unoriginal) routine she’d choreographed. He felt her unwavering attention during the punishing 12-hour rehearsal the next day. And again, during before- and after-school rehearsals on Monday and Tuesday. At times, he could’ve sworn he felt it during the classes he actually attended, especially the ones he was usually excused from in favor of additional Vocal Adrenaline practice. His attendance in core classes was spotty to say the least, but he’d been desperate for a respite from Ms. Corcoran’s inexhaustible focus.

During Wednesday morning rehearsals, Jesse almost snapped. After two 12-hour sessions on Saturday and Sunday plus two 2-hour morning and two 6-hour evening rehearsals of Ms. Corcoran’s constant scrutiny, not to mention his sneaking suspicion that she was watching him when practice was not in session, Jesse had endured at least 40 hours of discomfort. Snapping was rapidly becoming an inevitability.

Just before he figuratively snapped, however, Jesse was blessed with an epiphany. To his utter and thankfully private embarrassment, Jesse was surprised it took him so long to figure it out.

Math had never been Jesse’s strong point, but it was a simple enough equation to solve: Ms. Corcoran’s knowledge of him dating Rachel + Ms. Corcoran’s secret role as Rachel’s mother + his choice of song (both highly sexual and decidedly _not_ competition friendly) = an enraged mother prohibited from taking any practical actions against the boy she most likely believed to be in a physical relationship with her daughter.

Jesse almost laughed out loud when he realized it, but he was still a professional—even if he did choke a bit on his saliva as he struggled to keep a straight face. Given the expressions of some of his nearby teammates who noticed, his efforts weren’t entirely successful, and one guy—Chris?—asked Jesse if he was having a stroke. Ms. Corcoran definitely noticed.

“Something wrong, Jesse?”

He had to hand it to her, Ms. Corcoran’s acting ability was as fresh as ever. The feigned concerned seemed disconcertingly genuine.

“Of course, not, ma’am. Everything’s fine,” Jesse called out once he was sure he had complete control over his voice.

Despite knowing his acting ability was just as sharp, Jesse wasn’t surprised when Ms. Corcoran didn’t appear convinced in the slightest. Instead, she arched an eyebrow before finally dragging her gaze away from him to look at her watch.

“Okay. Times up. Get showered and get to class. I expect you all back the second school is over. Understand?”

A chorus of “Yes, ma’am” rang out, and the rest of the team scattered. Only Jesse remained on stage, fully aware that any attempt at retreating would be fruitless. Once the last nameless Vocal Adrenaline member had exited the auditorium, Ms. Corcoran raised one hand and beckoned for Jesse to follow her with the sharp curl of her perfectly manicured finger.

* * *

“Are you having sex with my daughter?” Ms. Corcoran asked once they were in the relative privacy of her office.

Shelby Corcoran wasn’t exactly the type to beat around the proverbial bush, but Jesse hadn’t been prepared for her to come right out and ask without even some semblance of preamble. Yet, there it was, out in the open, the question no teenage boy ever wants to be asked.

“No, ma’am.”

An arched brow; thin lips tightened into a straight line—she didn’t believe him.

“I swear,” he added.

A second arched brow; nostrils flared. 

Jesse held up the three middle fingers on his right hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’re not a Scout—Boy, Eagle, or otherwise.”

Jesse nodded. “Fair enough.” He grinned. “Still not doing it, though.” A little too late, Jesse realized that his wording was a touch problematic.

_Oh, well, it’s out there now. Can’t exactly take it back._

Unsurprisingly, Ms. Corcoran’s reaction was less cavalier.

“Was that supposed to be a joke, Jesse?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Cause it wasn’t funny.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I can look past a kiss here and there, but if I find out that you’ve laid a non-PG finger on my daughter, I’ll chop it off, along with anything else you use. Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal, ma’am.”

“And I’ll thank you for losing the flippant tone, as well.”

“Yes, ma’am. My apologies.”

They fell silent, both of them wordlessly analyzing and sizing the other up, as though they were locked in a battle of wills and waiting to see who would cave first. In the end, Ms. Corcoran lost.

“How is she?”

Jesse shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s been a few days since we’ve spoken.”

“Why?”

“Because Vocal Adrenaline has had 42 hours of rehearsals since Saturday, so I’ve been a bit busy and a bit exhausted when I wasn’t.”

Ms. Corcoran listened carefully, but Jesse could see the wheels turning in her head. Like Rachel, her dark eyes were expressive, but that’s where the similarity ended. The deep, warm brown that reminded Jesse of chocolate and puppies when he looked at Rachel was clearly not inherited from the hazel-eyed Shelby. And while Rachel’s eyes were wide and inviting, Ms. Corcoran’s were sharp and wary. Even though he hadn’t had many opportunities to witness the multitude of expressions he assumed they were both capable of, Jesse had a feeling that Rachel’s innocence and Ms. Corcoran’s experiences would definitely effect their emotional responses and how their eyes expressed those responses. At that moment, for instance, words like ‘plotting’ and ‘scheming’ crossed Jesse’s mind as he watched Ms. Corcoran mull over his passive-aggressive explanation—words he never imagined he’d have to use about Rachel.

“Fair enough,” Ms. Corcoran finally said, mirroring his flippancy from before. “Take the afternoon off. Go see her and report back tomorrow before rehearsals.”

“I can’t do that,” he said before considering the ramifications of his refusal.

“Why not?”

Ramifications like not having a reason for avoiding Rachel. He was honestly lucky Ms. Corcoran hadn’t asked him about texting or calling. It’s not like he could tell her about Friday night or how he still hadn’t responded to Rachel’s _I’m sorry_ text.

“Well…” he mused, trying to buy time until an excuse came to him. “Isn’t it a bit last minute? I mean, she has glee club rehearsals of her own and homework and it’s a school night.”

“And she’s a teenage girl with a crush, Jesse. She’ll make time.”

Jesse gave no reply because…what was there to say? She was right.

“I told you to befriend her, Jesse. You’re the one who ignored my directions and decided to take things further. If you’re backing out because you’ve changed your mind, then you better figure out a way to do it and still accomplish what we’ve set in motion. And preferably without causing Rachel any undue stress, if at all possible. Understand?”

Jesse nodded numbly.

“Jesse, do you know why I chose you for this particular mission?” At Jesse’s non-response, Ms. Corcoran continued, “Because of your status as team captain. Not the status, itself, but the qualities and experience required for such a position. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the best that Vocal Adrenaline has to offer. Your talents and ability to follow orders have garnered you a stellar reputation in the show choir world—a reputation that would be undoubtedly useful in building a _friendship_ with my daughter.” She paused to give him a pointed look. “Those same qualities—talent, ability, reputation—along with many, many others make you a perfect captain, as well. 

“Please don’t let my faith in you and your abilities be unfounded. Prove to me why you were the right choice for this particular mission,” Ms. Corcoran finished.

Jesse didn’t miss the subtext. Failure was not an option. If he understood Ms. Corcoran’s not-so-subtle threat, failing this mission would force her to question his place as captain. She’d already dangled UCLA over his head, but there were other colleges, other opportunities out there; there was only one Vocal Adrenaline. And, even though he had a co-captain, everyone knew that Giselle’s role was strictly for appearances. The responsibility and reputation of Vocal Adrenaline sat squarely on Jesse’s well-defined and perfectly proportional shoulders (unlike the comically disproportional shoulders of another co-captain on ragtag team in Lima…).

“I understand, ma’am.”

“Good. You may go.”

Jesse turned for the door and paused, waiting for Ms. Corcoran’s inevitable last words.

“And remember, one non-PG finger, and I’ll chop it off, Jesse. Chop it off.”

“Understood.”


	7. Liar, Liar, Virgin on Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for the exposition dump. It's not my favorite way of doing things, but it's the easiest way to get caught up with Rachel's POV, especially since we need to get inside her head for things to come.

Rachel thought she would have appreciated the drama of a secret boyfriend—and she did—but the burden of secrecy far outweighed the thrill. Ever since the disaster that was her Friday night date with Jesse, Rachel felt like she was suffocating under an avalanche of all the things she couldn’t say. And there were so many things.

First, there was the _Jesse_ of it all—the other half of her clandestine _Romeo & Juliet_ affair. The continuation of their covert relationship had been unexpected to say the least. Rachel wasn’t used to being actively pursued by anyone, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the attention. Jesse was cute and smart and just as talented as her. Oh, and a senior. A _senior_. Senior! But a senior at Carmel High and the lead vocalist of Vocal Adrenaline, which was obviously problematic. Rachel had long resigned herself to the idea that a prospective romantic partner might wish to keep their relationship quiet, but she never expected that she would be the one with something to hide. Not only did they have to keep their relationship secret to protect her place with the New Directions, but it would also derail Rachel’s plan—a plan she wasn’t even sure she wanted to follow through on anymore.

The _plan_ was another one of the many things threatening to suffocate Rachel. When she met Jesse, she’d been immediately drawn to him, and who could blame her? (See: cute and smart and just as talented as her. And did she mention that he was a senior, because…senior!). Still, even with the wonderful distraction that was Jesse St. James—the appearance of whom just happened to perfectly coincide with her unceremonious dumping by one Finn Hudson—it wasn’t that easy to forget the first boy she ever loved.

Originally, the plan had been to parade Jesse around her ex-boyfriend to show him what he was missing, make him see the error of his ways, and give him a reason to fight for her. Then her traitorous teammates served her with the ultimate ultimatum that ultimately derailed her plan. Give up Jesse or give up the New Directions; it was an easy decision to make.

Or so she thought.

To the average outsider, it would’ve appeared that Rachel’s plan had played out perfectly. Even before learning of Jesse St. James’ involvement, Finn had come crawling back to her of his own volition. Though she was secretly pleased, Rachel knew that the ease with which it happened only proved that Finn was just as mixed up as ever. Had she taken him back without question, who’s to say he wouldn’t have changed his mind a day or two later? No, thank you. Finn would have to prove his love—sacrifice himself on the altar of dignity or whatever that cute kid from _10 Things I Hate About You_ had said. So, she waited. Not that it took very long…ish.

Finn had immediately outed her to Mr. Schue and the rest of New Directions resulting in their ultimatum and yet another reason why they all felt justified in thinly veiling their jealousy of her talent with hatred.

Again, most people in the know would’ve thought she’d be ecstatic with her situation, but Rachel felt oddly empty. Sure, by flying into a jealous rage and telling on her, Finn had unwittingly told on himself; Rachel was satisfied in the knowledge that he wanted her, but it all happened too fast and was easily explained by Finn’s concern about the group’s chances at Regionals. Simply put, it wasn’t enough. (It sure wasn’t a public serenade à al Heath Ledger, that’s for darn sure). But with the ultimatum, Rachel was stuck.

Alterations to the plan were needed but, as she drove to meet Jesse to end their relationship in person (doing so over the phone was tacky, and she couldn’t risk burning a bridge with a potential future connection, especially given Jesse’s talent and ambitions), Rachel was struck by the futility of it all. As much as she loved Finn, Rachel had to admit that her relationship with Jesse was easier even with the ultimatum in place. With Jesse, there was no need for tests or plans; he wanted her, and that was that. So, when she arrived at their previously agreed upon time and meeting place, Rachel had come right out and asked him about his intentions—something she could never see herself doing with Finn. And, despite the anxiety that came with being so vulnerable, Rachel had never felt more at peace.

Thinking she’d found a second chance at love and a way to keep her position in the New Directions at the same time, Rachel thought she’d finally have it all, but she should’ve known better. For her, life, love, and happiness would never be _that_ easy.

Her third problem was _Finn_. Not 24 hours after her meeting with Jesse, she’d marched up to her ex-boyfriend with a carefully constructed lie on the tip of her tongue and was immediately blindsided by Finn’s declaration: _“I want us to be together, Rachel, a real couple.”_ Sure, it had been sandwiched between selfish excuses for his behavior during the previous two weeks and insulting her couples’ calendars, but it was probably the best she’d ever get from someone like Finn.

The wheels began turning in her head on their own, already plotting and scheming without any conscious direction from Rachel, herself. Until she remembered Jesse. How sweet and open and honest and warm he’d been from day one. How he’d promised never to hurt her and agreed to keep their relationship private for her. It was enough to give her pause. She needed to think this through, really weigh her options—options she wasn’t used to having. So, she stammered and mumbled something about being a “team player” and silently endured Finn’s self-assured rejoinder, waiting until he sauntered away before ducking into the nearest bathroom where she could have a panic attack in peace.

From then on, the panic hadn’t ceased. Finn or Jesse. Jesse or Finn. Should she give up her first love for something new that had yet to disappoint her but had all the potential of going down in flames considering their places on opposing teams? Or should she return to Finn, someone who’d hurt her consistently all year, stringing her along and toying with her emotions, but was at least somewhat approved of by the club she’d committed herself to? For some reason, Rachel felt like she was putting a puzzle together and she didn’t have all the pieces, which only served to make her panic more.

It was her endless panic, perhaps, that contributed to her fourth and final (and certainly biggest) problem: the Friday night date disaster with Jesse. More specifically, after the date when Jesse tried to convince her to have _s-e-x_.

Rachel was a virgin. And, from what she could gather, Jesse was…not? For as long as she could remember—weeks, at least—Rachel had planned on losing her virginity to Finn Hudson (also a virgin). Naturally, she was justifiably confused by how much she wanted to give in to Jesse in that moment. The rate at which everything was progressing was enough to give Rachel emotional whiplash, making the panic still bubbling under the surface rise to the top and spill over. Of course, that was nothing compared to the emotional eruption that followed her refusal and Jesse’s subsequent hasty departure. The entire ordeal reminded her of a similar occurrence with Finn at the beginning of their courtship—both incidents ending with Rachel left alone, in tears, wondering what she’d done wrong. Only in this case, she knew.

Or, at least, she thought she did.

Rachel desperately needed to talk to someone. Get everything off her chest and figure it all out, but her dads were not an option, her “friends” would destroy her if they found out she was still dating Jesse, and the boy in question wasn’t returning her texts. It was in moments like these that Rachel desperately wished she had a mother or motherly figure (Ms. Pillsbury had been decidedly unhelpful in this area). So, she took a risk.

Initially, the risk proved futile. The ladies of New Directions were habitually unhelpful and purposefully so. Rachel wasn’t sure what she’d expected. It did, however, result in Mr. Schue’s involvement which not only (hopefully) buried Rachel’s motivation in her peer’s memories but also served as inspiration for their next club’s theme: Madonna.

_“Genius”_ was the word Rachel used when Mr. Schuester asked them what came to mind when they saw the name Madonna written on the whiteboard. The word was applicable to the singer, of course, but that hadn’t been Rachel’s first thought. In fact, she wasn’t quite sure what her first thought had been since a slew of cascading thoughts hit her all at once. Her use of the word _“Genius”_ had more to do with a gem of an idea created by all those thoughts—an idea that could potentially solve the Finn portion of her multi-tiered dilemma. Because when Rachel thought of Madonna, she thought of a large catalogue of songs and, as the boys—Finn, in particular—voiced their reluctance to pay tribute to the 80s icon, one song especially stood out to her. It was through music that Rachel best expressed herself in every aspect of her life and, with this song, she would throw down the gauntlet and challenge Finn to do the same.

So, when Noah firmly stated, “I just don’t think her music translates to show choir,” Rachel took that as her cue to prove him, Finn, and everyone else wrong. She hopped out of her seat, marched over to band to whisper her selection, and then marched to the center of the room. With her hands on her hips and an unrivaled air of confidence, she locked eyes with Finn as the first notes of “Express Yourself” began to play…

Rachel was pleasantly surprised when the other girls of New Directions eagerly joined in and even more surprised afterward when they offered to help her put a performance of the song together as a legitimate option for their Regionals set list. Just when Rachel thought she couldn’t be any more surprised, she found herself agreeing to meet up with all of them at the mall during lunch to search for costumes.

The _mall_ …with Quinn, Santana, and Brittany, three girls who would normally rather be dead than spend their free time with her, especially somewhere like the mall. That place was practically sacred to them and their kind, but they were willing to risk being seen there…with her!

And the surprises kept on coming when Quinn, of all people, recommended they return to school to work out legitimate choreography in between costume alterations completed by volunteer seamstresses Tina and Mercedes (with assistance from an overly eager Kurt).

By the time the club reconvened later that day for the full performance, Rachel was practically flying. No slushies, no snide comments from Santana (or anyone else, but especially Santana), no looks of disdain from her fellow glee girls. It was perfect.

So, of course, it couldn’t last.

Given her intention for choosing “Express Yourself,” Rachel was understandably disappointed when she focused on Finn’s response from the audience and found it…lacking. Actually, “lacking” would’ve been preferable. Instead, he seemed to be intentionally looking at anything and everything but her and the other girls as they performed. For a good twenty seconds, something on the ceiling acutely held his attention like nothing had ever done before.

Intelligence and competent lyrical analysis had never been Finn’s strongest suit, and Rachel had long-since accepted that. From his behavior, however, she could only assume that he knew what she was doing, and his reaction spoke volumes. He was _expressing himself_ , and she finally had her answer. It was disheartening, sure, but it was enough to make her realize that she needed to forget Finn and channel her efforts into repairing her relationship with Jesse.

If only he’d text her back.

* * *

After a long night of tossing and turning interrupted with the intermittent checking of her phone, Rachel eventually gave up on getting anything resembling a decent night’s rest and headed to school early. In an attempt to avoid all thoughts of Jesse and his silence, Rachel took refuge in the choir room and busied herself by configuring Madonna mash-ups. By the time students started arriving, Rachel had put together an upbeat number of “Borderline” mixed with “Open Your Heart.” Her stomach turned when she remembered that she didn’t have anyone to sing it with and even more so when realized exactly what message her exhausted subconscious had created.

Naturally, she couldn’t sing this with one of the girls. Noah was certain to be a hard “no” with some possible profanity thrown in for good measure. Kurt might do it, but he’d probably be reluctant to do it with her. That really only left Finn and, based on his behavior the day before, Rachel wasn’t sure he’d be willing. If he was, she shuddered to think what he would make of the song’s message.

Just as she’d resigned herself to asking for his help and was in the midst of coming up with the perfect excuse for her song choices, she spotted Finn stalking toward her, all 6’4” of him barreling in her direction with an intensity that took her by surprise.

“Finn,” she greeted breathlessly, “I was just coming to find you.”

Finn came to a halt on the opposite side of the piano, completely still and uncharacteristically stony, though his nostrils were flared. Still, Rachel persisted, trying to ignore the unsettled feeling in her stomach.

“Look, I know that the boys were a little uncomfortable about this Madonna assignment, so I figured you and I as co-captains could do a little mash-up of a bunch of her songs just to show everyone how cool it can be.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Finn muttered, brushing her off. Then, with narrowed eyes, he asked the one question she never thought she’d hear even as she dreaded it: “Look, are you still dating that Jesse kid?”

For perhaps the first time in her life, Rachel’s mind went completely blank. Only a moment, though. In the space of a breath, she was hit was endless possibilities of what she could say, how he’d react, and what would ultimately happen. Visions of being kicked out of the club made her dizzy.

“N-no, no,” she stammered. “Who-who told you that?”

_Because, of course, that’s what matters…_

But Finn wasn’t having it. “Look, I know things have been weird between us, but I never thought you’d lie to me.”

_Oh, frickity frackle snacks!_

“Look, please just don’t tell anyone,” she begged.

“Unbelievable!” Finn exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

He turned around, and Rachel was struck with the strangest sense of déjà vu. If history had taught her anything, Finn was moments away from running to spill her secret to the rest of the club.

“ _We_ may not be together the way that Jessie and I are, but we can still be friends!” she pleaded. “I-I’m asking you, as my friend, to trust me.”

The look on his face killed her. She wanted to be angry because…who was he to feel betrayed after everything he’d put her through? But something in his eyes stopped her. Maybe it was the glassy sheen in his eyes or the way he couldn’t seem to meet her earnest gaze or the way his jaw clenched together, and his nostrils flared—all classic signs of Finn trying to keep it together, trying not to cry.

“Fine,” Finn decided, finally gaining enough control to look at her. “But if this leads to something bad for all of us, don’t expect any more friendship from me.”

Without waiting for her response, Finn walked away. Thankfully, he headed toward his drum kit instead of the hall.

Her secret was safe for now.

“Noted,” she said, more to herself than him. She took a deep breath and plastered on her best and brightest show face. “All right, let’s rehearse, then.”

* * *

Like the night before, Rachel also spent Tuesday night tossing and turning and checking her phone. She was desperate for a text from Jesse, even more so than any of the previous nights. After her conversation and practice with Finn that morning, Rachel’s brain had been in a constant state of short-circuiting.

Why was it that whenever she decided to move on, Finn chose that exact moment to get interested? Why was it that Finn’s mysterious revelation had somehow heightened the tension between them? She could understand if the tension had been unpleasant, but it was almost…

“No, you can’t afford to think like that,” she whispered to herself in the dark sometime around midnight.

If only Jesse would text her; save her from falling back down the rabbit hole called Finn Hudson.

In a last-ditch effort to banish Finn from her mind, Rachel slipped out of bed and retrieved the Care Bear from the drawer she shoved it in Friday night during her second fit of tears. Now, five nights later and struggling to fight off a fresh wave, she burrowed beneath her mountain of blankets and curled her body around the stuffed toy. Eventually, she fell into a restless and uneasy sleep shortly before dawn and after hours of counting tears instead of sheep.

When Rachel woke up a few hours later, her messaging inbox was—surprise, surprise—empty. It remained empty as she got ready for school.

Ever since Jesse had failed to return her text Friday night, Rachel had been plagued by various scenarios of what might have happened to him. Now, each of those scenarios invaded her thoughts again as she prepared herself to face another day at McKinley. _Jesse’s car in a ditch_ as she washed her face. _Jesse leaving Friday night and immediately finding another girl to have s-e-x with_ as she brushed her teeth. _Jesse not caring enough to break up with her and choosing to let her figure it out herself_ as she stood in front of her closet, searching for an outfit. _Jesse making fun of her with the rest of Vocal Adrenaline_ on the way to school. _Jesse…_

Rachel’s train of thought was interrupted by the vibration of her cell phone alerting her to an incoming text message as she was opening her locker.

It was from Jesse!

In her haste to open the message, Rachel dropped her books, earning her a few snickers from passersby and drawing Finn’s attention from a few lockers away. She gathered up her belongings as quickly as she could and shoved what she didn’t need into her locker before returning her attention back to her phone.

**_Jesse:_ ** _McKinley library. 5 p.m._

The gleeful shriek escaped her lips before Rachel knew it was coming. She glanced around nervously after her outburst and had the decency to look ashamed (or at least pretend to) when she caught Finn’s suspicious gaze. Her cheeks burned red as she offered him a small smile and fled down the hall, feeling Finn’s eyes follow her but missing how they landed on Santana once she turned the corner.

5 p.m. couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

The library was dark when Rachel entered. She had already spent the last hour and a half avoiding Finn’s steely glare and barely managed to sneak away once they were released for the evening. After all of that, she was bound to be a bit jumpy, and the darkness wasn’t helping. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t cut out for this clandestine, cloak-and-dagger stuff—romantic or otherwise. So, when a book seemingly jumped off the shelf of its own volition, Rachel was understandably startled.

Slowly, she reached down to pick up the book— _it’s not a ghost, it’s not a ghost, it’s not a ghost_ —and silently willed her heart to stop racing as she turned it over in her hands.

“ _Sondheim on Music_ ,” she muttered to herself, reading the cover. Then it hit her, and she gasped. “Jesse,” she hissed. “Is that you?” Her eyes flew to the shelf from which the book had fallen and slid several books aside, revealing Jesse’s face.

After having spent the day preparing what she would say when she saw him, Rachel’s mouth went dry, and she couldn’t form the words.

Jesse took advantage of her silence and started. “I’m so glad you came. I picked the Stephen Sondheim biography section for our clandestine meeting place, because only he would be able to express my melancholia.”

Anyone else would have found the entire situation to be silly. Everything from his words to his facial expressions as he spoke was overly dramatic. Rachel, on the other hand, appreciated the theatricality of it all—the message, the place, the method, each word and gesture—everything about Jesse and this situation reminder her of how perfect they were for one another.

But then his expression changed, and she caught the genuine regret buried beneath the surface when he said, “I feel bad about what happened at your house.” He paused briefly and the playful seriousness was back. “Do you still have my Care Bear?”

Rachel nodded. “Yes.”

She wanted to join him in his melodramatic banter, but there was something more pressing on her mind. As she continued talking, she barely noticed his sigh of relief.

“Since we’re meeting in the shadows, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Jesse’s gaze, which had dropped down as she spoke, snapped up to meet hers as he insisted, “Me first,” effectively cutting her off. “I was out of line the other night,” he continued. “You deserve more than that. You deserve romance. No, you deserve _epic_ romance.”

There was something endearingly cheesy about that, but Rachel loved it. She smiled shyly and struggled to meet his intense gaze. No one had ever said something like that to her before. She didn’t know what to do or say in return. Jesse took her silence as a sign to keep going. As he spoke, he moved down the aisle and crossed over to hers, leaning up against the shelves.

“I feel badly that I pressured you into…you know…going all the way. I’m willing to wait. You tell me when you’re ready. And I’ll make sure that I’m fastidiously groomed,” he promised, finally coming to a stop in front of her. Gently, he reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek with his thumb as he did. The second he touched her, something flashed behind his eyes that was unfamiliar to Rachel. She was so caught up in identifying it that she missed the slight upward tilt of his mouth and his sharp exhale.

“What did you want to tell me?” he asked, jerking her from her reverie.

With everything that happened the last few days, to have him standing there so close, touching her like nothing had ever gone wrong; it was all too much. The warmth of his hand as he stroked her face, the unfamiliar emotion in his eyes, the subtly spicy aroma of his cologne, the magnetic pull between them…everything. Jesse consumed her. She couldn’t think straight. Logically, Rachel knew she was too young, but every fiber of her being was screaming out for him, wanting him. Both sides battled for dominance, scattering Rachel’s thoughts and feelings around like leaves in the wind. But she’d been silent for too long; he was waiting for her to speak.

Hesitantly, Rachel opened her mouth, unsure of what was about to come out. “I-I’m ready,” she lied.


	8. Burn, Baby, Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the massive break. With everything glee-related (and in the world, in general) going on the last few months, I've had to take a step back for the sake of my mental health. Thankfully, the time has given me some clarity and ideas for changes to my initial plot that I think you will all enjoy even more. Hope this chapter was worth the wait. We're getting closer and closer to the moment everything changes.

_“I’m ready.”_

Two words from Rachel and Jesse was fully prepared to risk his sex pistol for a chance to be with her—Ms. Corcoran’s threat be damned—but, of course, it wasn’t as simple as that. She wasn’t ready. Thankfully, a closed bathroom door kept both he and Rachel separated leading up to the moment of this realization, so Jesse was able to keep his head (pun intended) under control this time around.

When Rachel finally emerged, she’d informed him that she indeed wasn’t ready. Her voice had been soft and sweet yet decisive. And her reason…well, it honestly made him want to take her in his arms. Of her two excuses—betrayal of her team and betrayal of herself—she’d mentioned her team first. Normally, Jesse would choose self over teammates, but her comment about “sleeping with the enemy” reminded him how committed Rachel was to the competition. It was like she was made for him.

So, he’d done and said all the right things in the short span of time that followed—anything to alleviate any unpleasant feelings Rachel might’ve had about the whole situation. He’d held her hand, said it was “okay” and that he “understood,” and waited patiently while Rachel changed back into regular clothes. Then they spent the next two hours watching a Barbra Streisand movie and enjoying some PG-rated cuddling. By the time he kissed her on the cheek and bid her goodnight (quietly ecstatic to be taking the yellow Care Bear with him), Jesse knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Rachel had him wrapped around her little finger, rendering him completely and utterly screwed.

At least he could appreciate the poetic irony.

The ride home was spent going over everything that had happened since December 9th. Shelby’s revelation, his mission, the _Rachel Berry_ of it all—every look, every kiss, every song that was sung. Each and every moment spent with her starkly contrasted with those spent in his other life in Akron. For the first time in his life, Jesse realized that his world might not have to be so lonely. It was a thought that both terrified and thrilled him.

And that’s when it hit him: he was in love with Rachel Berry.

There was no other possible explanation. After two and a half hours spent cooped up in his car, alone with his thoughts, Jesse could find no other reason for his actions that night and those leading up to it. All the signs pointed to love. He loved her. It was as simple as that. He _loved_ her. 

So, instead of reaching for his Lock Box of Secrets the second he returned home, Jesse settled down on his bed and stared at the yellow Care Bear nestled in his lap, as he desperately tried to think his way out of the mess he was in.

Well, that and Rachel.

* * *

“Would you mind running that past me one more time?”

Jesse sighed. “I need to transfer to McKinley.”

Ms. Corcoran blinked. “Once more, if you please.”

“I…” he pointed to himself, “…need to transfer…” Jesse continued, lifting his second index finger and rapidly crossing it back and forth with the first one a few times, “…to McKinley,” he concluded, gesturing vaguely in the general direction of what he hoped was Lima.

Ms. Corcoran blinked again, but the near imperceptible downturn of the corners of her mouth gave her away.

“Why?”

Her voice was controlled, if a bit icy, which would have immediately put Jesse on high alert in any other situation, but he had prepared for this.

With conviction, he replied, “Because you want me to.”

“Oh, I do, do I?”

Jesse nodded. “Yes, yes you do.”

“Okay,” she mused, leaning back on her desk. “Consider my interest piqued. Entertain me, St. James.”

Taking a subtle, yet deep breath, Jesse pulled up the script of bogus reasons and half-truths, as well as legitimate reasons, he’d crafted in his head and began to explain. “Convincing Rachel to transfer is a fool’s game. At least for now,” he added at the deepening frown on his mentor’s face. “She’s too loyal to her team, and our connection isn’t strong enough for me to sway her otherwise.”

“But aren’t you already spending all your spare time in Lima?”

“Yes, ma’am, but there hasn’t been much _to spare_. Between school and Vocal Adrenaline rehearsals, which are always—”

Here, Ms. Corcoran cut him off. “If I remember correctly, I’ve been lenient with your attendance.”

“Yes, and while I appreciate that, it isn’t enough. Lima is two and a half hours away. That’s five hours of driving in one night if I go and see her after school. I barely have time to rest my eyes before I have to get back up for morning rehearsals. Now, I can endure pretty much whatever comes my way, but I’m exhausted, which you must know is difficult for me to admit. Soon, it’s going to start effecting my performance.”

For the first time since they retreated to her office, Ms. Corcoran’s face softened. Jesse took this as a sign to launch into the next phase of his script.

“By transferring to McKinley, I will see Rachel every day and be able to adequately integrate myself into her life. Then, and only then, will I have even half a chance at convincing her to come back with me.”

“Fair enough,” Ms. Corcoran admitted with a curt nod. “But what about Vocal Adrenaline? We have Regionals coming up in a couple months. Will you be back by then?” She paused. “Or do you plan on joining that group of hers and competing against us?”

Once again, Jesse had expected this question and prepared for it.

“To be completely honest, joining the New Directions is part of my plan, yes. And it’s an integral part, too.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve both seen and heard how they treat Rachel on that team. By joining, I’ll become her one and only ally. The rest of her team already gave her an ultimatum when it came to me, so I doubt they’ll be pleased with my presence. From there, it shouldn’t be too hard to stir the pot, so to speak, and drive a wedge between Rachel and the rest of her team.” Jesse’s stomach turned at his own words, even as he mentally reassured himself that they were necessary. “That way,” he continued, “she should be more than ready to return with me when I transfer back.”

“And Regionals? Don’t think I didn’t notice your admittedly masterful avoidance of that part of my question.”

“Honestly, ma’am, it’s because I don’t have an answer. A huge part of that depends on you.”

“How so?”

Jesse took a deep breath, mindful of his tone. “Because it wouldn’t matter when Rachel wanted to transfer if she doesn’t have anywhere to go. She doesn’t have a car. I mean, she doesn’t even drive, so she’d have no way of getting to and from Carmel every day. And I highly doubt her dads would pick up and move their lives two and a half hours away for something like this. They love her and would do almost anything for her—that’s abundantly clear—but there are limits. Same goes for letting her move in with me. Even if they were okay with her staying in my house, they’d want to meet with my parents to discuss it, which we both know isn’t going to happen. Which brings me to your role in the timeline of this plan.” He paused to take yet another deep breath before continuing.

“If Rachel transfers, the only option that makes sense would be staying with you during the week and spending the weekends at home with her dads, at least for now. But for that to work, you would eventually have to…” he trailed off, letting Ms. Corcoran come to the obvious conclusion.

“Speak to Rachel and her fathers,” she finished.

Everything between them fell silent. The only sound was the _tick-tick-tick_ of the clock on wall.

“But how do you suggest I do that, Jesse? If it was as simple as that, then I wouldn’t have bothered involving you in the first place.”

“I’ve met her dads. They like me. With adequate time and opportunity—say, a transfer to McKinley—I have zero doubt that I can earn their trust. From what I gather, they have no clue just how badly Rachel is treated at school. If I start dropping hints here and there, they should be amenable to her transferring back with me. Not only that, but their trust in me should extend to those whom I trust.”

“Like me,” Ms. Corcoran concluded.

Jesse only smiled in return. “I’ll have to take it slow so it isn’t obvious, but once the idea is planted in all of their heads, we can set up a meeting or something and—I don’t know—surprise them? That will be up to you. It has to look like a coincidence. They can never know that I knew who you were to Rachel.”

“Of course, not,” she agreed. “It would make us both look suspicious.”

 _Mutually assured destruction_ , Jesse thought bitterly.

“As far as Regionals are concerned,” Jesse pressed on, “just tell the team that I’m spying or something. I can stay with my uncle and practice for Regionals on my own if we happen to complete the transfer in time. With my talent and dedication, surely you know that I’m fully capable of learning the set on my own.”

“And if we don’t?”

“If not, then we’ll work something else out. Regardless, Vocal Adrenaline should have no problem beating New Directions—with or without me.”

Ms. Corcoran nodded in agreement. “Seems like you have all the bases covered, Jesse. I’m impressed.”

“Thought you might be.”

For a short eternity, both Jesse and Ms. Corcoran stared one another down, their carefully controlled expressions giving nothing away. Inside, however, both were making mental alterations to Jesse’s existing plan.

Finally, Ms. Corcoran broke the silence. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“I agree with you. Wholeheartedly, in fact. It seems like you’ve thought everything through. Everything you’ve said makes sense. If you’ve nothing to add, we can get started right away. I want you at McKinley as soon as possible. Monday perhaps?”

It took every ounce of Jesse’s will power not to gloat. “Yes, ma’am.”

The call to his parents explaining everything (well, not everything. They got the same excuse Ms. Corcoran would give to the team. It wouldn’t do to divulge any information that would implicate her or a seventeen-year-old Jesse—but especially her—in what might technically be a crime) happened right then and there in Ms. Corcoran’s office.

As she explained, Jesse took mental notes of everything that was said, how it was said, and what wasn’t said. He would take actual notes later. For his plan to work—his full plan—he needed to know everything. And he’d also need to know if Ms. Corcoran suspected anything. If she did, he would need to be prepared, especially if he wanted to keep Rachel in his life. Because that’s who this was all for.

He’d spent hours thinking it over the night before and knew that his chances of convincing Rachel to transfer were slim. That belief was only reinforced as he spent Saturday’s rehearsal comparing each of his teammates to her. Rachel was loyal and warm, both trusting and trustworthy—a paradigm of innocence. His teammates, on the other hand, were not. If, by some miracle, she did transfer, Rachel wouldn’t last. _His_ Rachel wouldn’t last, anyway. Vocal Adrenaline would extinguish everything he loved about her.

As for Ms. Corcoran’s wish to know her daughter, Jesse was hesitantly willing to go along if—and only if—Rachel desired a relationship as well. But he had absolutely no intention of bringing her back to Carmel. None. Zip. Zero. Nada. Not if he could help it.

Was he taking a massive risk? With Regionals, Nationals, his scholarship? Maybe.

The most important thing was making Rachel happy. He knew about badly she wanted to win, and he would do everything in his power to make that happen for her. Even if it meant turning his back on Vocal Adrenaline. Even if it meant enduring several months of the dysfunctional chaos that was New Directions. Even if it meant risking his previously assured fourth consecutive Nationals win. (He would try, obviously, but he wasn’t completely lying when he said that Vocal Adrenaline would be fine without him at Regionals. He might be the best, but they were leagues better as a unit than New Directions could probably ever hope to be).

Hopefully, reuniting mother and daughter would safeguard his scholarship. Ms. Corcoran’s initial threat echoed in his mind, but he hoped it was contingent more upon keeping her secret rather than convincing Rachel to transfer. That request seemed more secondary than anything. But his mentor had a vindictive side that he’d seen many times before, and her job status was conditional on Vocal Adrenaline’s success. If he pulled off the impossible and made Rachel’s dreams come true, he could be risking that full ride to UCLA.

But the risk, nay, risks—all of them—were worth it. After a lifetime of cold, cruel indifference, Jesse was finally ready for a change, and his only chance was Rachel Berry. Besides, Nationals were months away and a lot could happen in the meantime. Ultimately, he decided that it was better if he pushed all of the ‘what ifs’ to the back of his mind and burned that bridge when the time came.

Rachel was worth it.


End file.
